


With love, Jensen

by Aelia1980



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Drama, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Infidelity, M/M, Schmoop, Sick Jensen Ackles, major character death (in the epiologe), non-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28633143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelia1980/pseuds/Aelia1980
Summary: December 2015: More than two years ago, a stupid one-night-stand destroyed not only Jared's relationship but most of all his friendship with Jensen. Since then, Jared hasn't heard from Jensen, hasn't even thought much about him anymore, until he receives a letter from his former best friend and boyfriend. Is this letter enough to meet Jensen again and can this meeting be the start of something new?
Relationships: Jared Padalecki/Original Male Character(s), Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Comments: 25
Kudos: 59





	With love, Jensen

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don´t know Jared, Jensen or anyone else mentioned in this story. This is a work of fiction, written for “entertainment” and certainly not to hurt mentioned characters. I just borrowed their names, jobs, a bit of their background and invented so much more. Nothing mentioned in this fic ever happened,
> 
> A/N: This was one of my first ever J2 fics, written in spring 2010, originally posted on my LJ. A year later or so I added some bits and pieces. I know the writing isn’t perfect, but please be gentle and keep in mind that English is not my first language.
> 
> I also should mention that I do not have any medical knowledge and got the little info I had from wikipedia. So, any mistakes here - and there surely are mistakes here - are my own and for the sake of the story.
> 
> The major character death in this story is mentioned and dealed with in the last chapter, so if you do not want to read it, you can always skip this part of the story. I

## With love, Jensen

**December 2015**

It’s Saturday morning and my cell is ringing, vibrating loudly against the smooth wooden surface of the chest of drawers where I put it the previous night. Even before I can get up from my bed where I am sprawling, enjoying the lazy morning, my boyfriend grabs the phone. Towel wrapped around his slightly chubby waist and water drops dripping from his still wet hair, he glances quickly at the caller ID before he answers it. It must be a private call, friends or family, otherwise Mark wouldn’t have dared to take it. Although my sexuality isn’t a secret anymore, Mark and I agreed that he stays away from my business affairs to protect both our privacy.

For a while I’m listening to Mark’s chatter with the unknown caller and notice soon enough that it can only be my mom who calls at this godless hour. She probably wants to share all her boring Christmas preparations stuff with me. Rolling my eyes, I really don’t envy Mark at the moment and, unsurprisingly, he is more than happy to hand me the phone a couple of minutes later. Like expected, Mom outtalks me, babbling about Christmas preparations, dinner, presents - just everything you could think about – and causing me a light headache.

Only once she is done, does she actually remember why she called in the first place. “Jared, the reason I was actually calling. A letter arrived for you. Without a sender’s name.”

“For me?” Nowadays, I barely get mail to my parents’ home, and now I get a letter without a sender’s name? It’s fishy and it catches my interest. “No Sender? Anything eye-catching?” I ask curiously.

I can hear my mom moving through the house, maybe going to the kitchen where she normally sorts the mail. “It’s from England, postmarked in London as far as I can see," she explains eventually. "And it’s pretty thick.”

Feverishly, I search my memory, trying to think of anyone I know who moved to the British capital but all I find is a big fat question mark and my awakened curiosity. "Definitely strange," I admit. "Can you please send it over?”

Of course it might be possible that some crazy fan found out my parents’ address, but it’s unlikely. It hardly ever happens nowadays thanks to the internet and social networks where fans can contact me so easily.

"Sure, hon," my mom promises and after the usual loving words of good-bye, I hang up.

Mark, who has followed the chat with my mom attentively, is looking at me questioningly.

We met and fell in love at work – he was director of photography at one of my movies – and have been dating for about one year now. Our relationship is built on candor and honesty, and I don’t hesitate to tell him about the letter. It might be a little mysterious but it certainly isn’t a big thing or secret.

The missing sender’s name makes him a little skeptical. Nevertheless, he doesn’t patronize me. He knows that I’m just too curious, and that I at least have to see the letter with my own eyes before I decide what to do with it.

***

It is two days later that I find a big brown envelope in my letterbox, with Mom’s neat handwriting on it. Hidden beneath a small pile of Christmas cards, some bills, and the usual advertisements, I can barely see it at first.

Curious to find out who the unknown writer is, I can’t wait much longer and, jamming the remaining mail under my armpit, I open my mom’s letter on my way back to the house. A thick, heavy gray envelope slips into my palm and once I turn it around I recognize the handwriting at once. I haven’t seen it in a long time, but it’s still as familiar to me as my own. With a mixture of amazement and horror on my face, I abruptly stop in the middle of the hallway, my legs suddenly feeling very weak.

The letter is from Jensen.

Disbelievingly, I stare at the envelope, at the characteristic handwriting that forms my name, and an ocean of feelings and memories wash over me.

I am only pulled back to reality when Sadie’s soft and wet muzzle nudges my thigh. Patting her absentmindedly, I move on and finally enter my office. I put the mail down onto the big, empty desk and, even though it isn’t noon yet, this unexpected turn of events demands for some alcohol. The Whiskey runs down my throat and warms my belly, helping me to calm down and ignore Jensen’s letter for the moment, reading the other mail first: Christmas cards from friends and relatives, most of them with the usual flowery phrases, bills I pay at once via online banking, thin catalogs I thumb through. But while I’m busy, my glance wanders back to the gray envelope again and again, to Jensen’s handwriting and the colorful Christmas stamp on it. My fingers jerk back and forth, unsure whether to grab it or not, whether to rip it open or toss it into the fire.

How long haven’t we been in touch? Over two years, after the horrible fight that not only destroyed our wonderful friendship but also our love.

How long haven’t I thought about Jensen? Months… It had taken me so long to get over him and over what life had made of him, of us. Then, one not so special day, I woke up and I forced myself not to think about him and what I had lost any longer.

Though, seeing this letter now, I’m overwhelmed by all the emotions I repressed and that are suddenly and unexpectedly whirling through my mind.

I take the envelope and hold it in my hand.

Like Mom said, it’s thick and heavy, and of course I’m curious, wondering what it contains.

I turn it around, feel the expensive paper between my fingertips; I even take in its fragrance. A slight smell of a very familiar aftershave lingers… Jensen’s aftershave. A shudder runs through my body, remembering the smell, remembering how I took it in, again and again, holding Jensen in my arms, burying my nose in the curve of his neck, just breathing him in.

Time passes as I stare at the envelope – seconds, minutes – I can’t tell. As if Jensen’s handwriting is hypnotizing me, my eyes are trapped, and the longer I stare, the more I have an itch to open it.

Something is holding me back though. Eventually, I put the letter back on the table, sighing heavily and expressing a mixture of sadness and confusion. I leave my office, calling Harley and Sadie, hoping that my lively dogs can help me to calm down again.

***

Once Mark arrives late in the evening, the letter is still unopened.

Exchanging a passionate kiss, one that is more demanding than gentle, is the beginning of our usual evening routine, which started when Mark moved in with me four months ago. I ask about his day; he blusters, like in the past weeks, about the movie’s director and second class actors he has to work with at the moment. Then it’s my turn and I tell him about my day but I intentionally don’t mention the letter.

I know exactly what Mark will think about it, and even though we don’t keep secrets, I’m not ready to tell him yet. The mail came surprisingly fast, so it is still early enough to tell him tomorrow, and maybe until then I will have made up my mind about what to do with it.

Then, though, Mark asks if the letter arrived. I nod in confirmation; lying to him now isn’t an option, he would see right through me anyways.

“And, who’s it from, JT? Don’t keep me in suspense!” He seems almost as excited and curious as I was.

I sigh.

Mark looks at me even more curious.

“Jensen. The letter is from Jensen,” I answer quietly, sure that Mark will freak out. He has never met Jensen, but Mark hates him on principle.

“Jensen?!" he calls out. "Your ex-co-star-best slash friend-and-lover Jensen? Jensen fucking Ackles?!” He seems really annoyed, gesturing widely, his face reddening in anger, like it had been him, not me, whose heart Jensen broke.

I can’t even tell why, but somehow it bothers me that Mark is talking about Jensen like that, full of anger and contempt. “Yeah. But please… don’t call him that. I haven’t treated him much better.” That’s the simple truth. In the first months after our break up I often found myself wondering what I could have done to prevent the things from happening, realizing that I probably was too harsh on Jensen.

Mark bristles with anger but ignores my comment, asking instead, “What does the bastard want?”

I don’t tell him off again. I really don’t want to pick a fight and, no matter what I say, I know Mark’s opinion about Jensen and I doubt that he will ever change it.

I shrug. “No clue. Haven’t read it yet.”

“Then don’t, JT. Whatever the guy wants, it isn’t worth sacrificing your rare free-time to read even just one line of the shit he wrote. Burn it and forget the scumbag!" It’s clear that Mark doesn’t want me to read the letter and he might have a point; not the thing with my rare free-time, that’s exaggerated, but who knows what will happen if I read Jensen’s words. But burning a letter Jensen wrote to me just doesn’t seem right.

“Mmm, don’t know. He’s… he was my best friend. I loved him… a lot.” Jensen was more than a friend, more than a partner. He touched me deep within and completed me. But Mark doesn’t know about the deep feelings I had for Jensen, and I’m not ready to share them with him. The little corner of my heart that belongs to me and my memory of Jensen - even though I repress it successfully - will always stay my secret.

“Right. Until he cheated on you,” Mark reminds me, not that it is necessary. Even though I haven’t thought about Jensen for a long time, our break up left a wound in my heart that hasn’t really healed yet, and would probably never fully heal.

“Mark… it wasn’t that easy. It wasn’t black and white. He wasn’t the bad guy and I wasn’t the good one. Jensen had massive problems. I still wonder if I could, or should, have done more to help him. What he did was unforgivable, but I’m not as innocent as you think. I abandoned him, I pushed him away when he was weak, vulnerable, and probably needed me the most.” Until now, I haven’t spoken about it, but it is true. I abandoned my best friend, the love of my life, not able to forgive his one-night-stand that he couldn’t even remember in his intoxication of drugs and alcohol when he staggered back into our house, smelling of sex, a hickey already blooming on his throat.

“Well, I still think you were right. Did you not give him second chances again and again? Did you not beg him to take professional help, to go to rehab?”

Of course, I did, but it doesn’t ease my bad conscience in the least. “Mark, please, can we not talk about it any longer? I just don’t want to think about it anymore, okay?”

“Okay, baby. Let’s go to bed. Let’s make out.” He grins broadly, wiggling his brows and reaching out to tug me upstairs.

“Only make out?” I answer with a filthy smirk on my lips.

***

Mark sleeps, but I can’t find rest, tossing and turning in our bed, and staring at the ceiling. I’m much too stirred to think about sleep. Not because of the hard and hot sex with Mark, but mainly because of all the thoughts that center around that unimpressive gray envelope in my office that is still waiting to be opened.

Sex with Mark is something completely different than sex with Jensen. Mark comes fast and hard. Mark literally fucks me. He isn’t into cuddling, sometimes even gets brutal, and sweet kisses and cuddles aren’t his world. He’s the absolute opposite of Jensen, who really made love to me, who fell asleep curled up by my side, who sometimes quietly held my hand for hours, brushing his thumb against the back of it, and who hugged me tightly, not letting go for minutes, just to feel close. Maybe that’s why I felt attracted to Mark after our first date, our first fuck in the car. But as fulfilled as our relationship is, I miss the intimacy and the caresses I had with Jensen, and I only felt complete when I was with him.

Once again my thoughts are with Jensen. I remember a friendship that lasted eight years and was solid as a rock. I remember the years when this friendship was so much more, a wonderful love-story. I recall the last two difficult years, when Jensen slowly changed, until he was just a shadow of his former self, a wreck, destroyed by an addiction that had a corrupting power over his body and soul. And I remember the few hours that destroyed everything; the anger, the disappointment, the emptiness and tears.

Why did Jensen write this letter? What does he want? Does he want to say sorry, after all these years? It is too late … but on the other hand, better late than never. Does he want to revive our friendship? Would it be possible at all? Could we pick up the threads of our lives, and knot them together once more to look into a future together as friends?

I push this thought aside, and don’t even allow myself to hope that Jensen and I could be friends again one day. But it’s the moment I make the decision; I just have to know what Jensen has to say. Quietly, I leave the warmth of my bed, sneaking out of the bedroom on tiptoes because I don’t want Mark to wake up and find out that I’m about to read the letter.

Even though winters in LA are always mild, it’s rather cool in the unheated office in the dead of night. I fetch a blanket out of the wardrobe before I pick up the letter and sit down on the small black leather sofa.

With fingers trembling slightly, I take a few deep breaths until I finally open the envelope with the silver paper knife from the desk. It feels strange, kind of definite, like taking a step towards my ex best friend and boyfriend.

I pull the letter out of the envelope… it consists of several pages, narrowly written in Jensen’s handwriting. I swallow hard. I’ve never gotten such a long letter before. Three items fall out when I unfold the pages: two photos and a card. Unsure, I wonder whether I should read the letter first, or if I should look at the photos before I start reading.

Eyes fixed on the letter, like it could tell me what to do, I finally spot a little yellow post-it on the first page.

_Read me first_ , it says.

A smile flits over my lips as I realize how well Jensen still knows me, knowing exactly that I couldn’t make up my mind about something as mundane as that. Without looking at them, I put the card and the photos aside and, taking a deep breath to prepare for whatever the letter tells me, I start reading.

_London, December 3_ _rd_ _2015_

_Dear Jared,_

_I bet you_ _’_ _re as surprised to receive this letter as I_ _’_ _m surprised to be writing it. God, I can_ _’_ _t belie_ _ve I’m sitting here, p_ _utting pen to paper, writing a letter to you because, believe me, it_ _’_ _s everything but easy for me. You know me, you know it has never been my strength to talk about feelings, to accept my mistakes, to be straightforward and outgoing. I only learned that when I met you. One of the many reasons I_ _’m thinking about_ _you again and again; you had such a positive influence on my life and, thanks to you, I learned so much, changed so much._

_Once more, Christmas is around the corner. And even if it´s a cliché, Jay, Christmas is about love and family. Probably the best opportunity I can think of to get in touch with you again._

_I am not even sur_ _e if you_ _’ll allow_ _it, if you´ll read these_ _words… If you hate me as much as I deserve, this letter will probably end up in the trash. But at least there_ _’_ _s this small hope that you are still as curious as you_ _’_ _ve always been and that you_ _’_ _ll open and read this letter._

_Probably_ _you_ _’ve_ _he_ _ld it in your hand for a while, weighing the pros and cons of reading it, sitting on your bed or your sofa, a mug of coffee or a beer next to you, with Harley and Sadie by your feet and your favorite music in the background._

Not quite, I think, but you’re close, Jen. And if it weren’t the dead of night, I probably would have read this letter like you imagined it.

_I hope they are well. I miss them, especially my girl. I was thinking about getting a dog, but none are like Sadie, and they would only be a bad replacement._

She misses you too, Jen. In the first weeks after you left, she suffered as much as I did, turning her head, searching and sniffing for you. She was anxious, barked plenty, and, while I was crying my heart out in the long lonely nights, she howled like a wolf.

_And I hope you are well. I hope you are healthy and happy. You deserve it, Jay._

A weak smile curls my lips. Yeah, I’m fine. I’m happy.

_I know that you moved early this year. I was in LA, visiting Chris, and I just couldn_ _’_ _t resist driving past our old house. In secret. Chris laughed at me. He said that if I wanted to see you, I just have to call. But I didn_ _’_ _t have the guts to call. You probably changed your number anyways and, even if not, I doubt you would have answered it._

I sigh, because I got a new number, to prevent exactly that from happening… And honestly, I think I really would have hung up if Jensen had called.

_Driving past your…our house should have given me a bit of peace. But it didn’t because you had moved. I don’t blame you though. I left the city, even the continent, to get away from all those memories. You couldn_ _’_ _t do that because your job binds you to LA, and so you did the only thing you could. You sold the house where we’d been living together, where we’d been happy, where your, my, our spirits still wandered around. It must have been too painful, all those memories of us living there together…The stain on the carpet when I spilled some red wine on your birthday. The cracked tile on the patio when I let go of the chain saw because you, doofus, frightened me. Or the small dent in our bedroom_ _’_ _s wall when the wardrobe crashed in as we tried to assemble it. God, we acted as we were just born yesterday! Do you still remember how much we laughed? You couldn’t stop for minutes! Without Chad_ _’_ _s help we probably would never have made it and would have had to live off moving boxes for months._

Closing my eyes, I remember these moments. I recall the birthday party, the convivial evening, and Jensen hugging and kissing me so wildly that a bit of the blood-red liquid spilled over the glass and ruined the carpet. I remember jumping at Jensen when he wanted to cut the huge box tree on our patio, with the saw in his hands, and him screaming like a girl because I shocked him so much. And I remember our laughter when the wardrobe collapsed and we barely managed to seek shelter on our bed. We both laughed out so loud, holding our stomachs.

_I probably could have found out where you are living now. A few well-_ _directed questions to one of the few buddies we still share. But it is hard enough for them, and I didn_ _’_ _t want to make them feel even more torn between you and me. So I_ _’_ _m sending this letter over to your parents_ _’,_ _hoping you_ _’_ _ll receive it. I know it_ _’s deceiving, but_ _I won_ _’_ _t put my name on it, hoping that it encourages your curiosity. Maybe I_ _’ll_ _never find out if your parents received it or not, or whether or not they did pass it on because they think I_ _’_ _m one of your crazy fangirls. Or even worse, blackmail. Probably you_ _’_ _re confronted with these kinds of things every now and then. It can_ _’t have been_ _easy for you after you came out._

Yeah, it was everything but easy. And it never will be. But it was right. I couldn’t and didn’t want to lie any longer.

_Nevertheless, you made it, Jay. I often take a look at IMDB or wikipedia to see what you are up to and, of course, I watched your latest movies. Jay, you were good. Awesome, in fact. You_ _’_ _re getting better all the time, even more authentic. And you are such an all-rounder. That_ _’_ _s what I_ _’_ _ve always admired when I saw you acting. You can play the nice guy from next_ _door – like you did back on Gilmore Girls, the sweet or evil Sam, a dad, a historical person, or a cool FBI Agent. And no matter who you play, you are this person. You just feel connected with your character. Not for nothing you are one of the biggest stars in Hollywood nowadays. I hope you know I mean it. We used to support each other, giving each other honest feedback all the time. Do you remember when we watched “The End” together? When I saw you as Lucifer, a cold shiver ran down my spine and I just said “God, Jay, you_ _’_ _re so good. You_ _’_ _ll be big someday, I know it”. You just laughed, said that I was nuts, that it_ _’s me who would make it_ _. I´m happy that I was right and you weren_ _’_ _t. And I´m really proud of you._

Warmth spreads through my veins. I’m delighted by Jensen’s words. Back then, he was my biggest supporter next to my family, always fair and honest. I know he means what he wrote. And I owe him so much; I’m not even sure if I would be where I’m now if it hadn’t been for Jensen, for his great support. He made me a better actor and we used to learn so much from each other.

_Some weeks ago, I was surfing the web, looking for news about you and stumbled over a photo of you and your new boyfriend. I hope he_ _’_ _s good to you. I hope you_ _’_ _re happy._

_I admit, when I saw this photo I was jealous at first, even though I know I have no right to be. It was just strange to see you holding another man_ _’_ _s hand. But later I thought about it, and now I_ _’_ _m happy for you, I really am_ _. It_ _’s good_ _that you were rea_ _dy for a new relationship, that whatever I may have destroyed wasn_ _’_ _t so permanent that you lost your trust in others, your trust in love._

I swallow hard. Jealous? Yes, Jensen, you really have no right to be at all. But I’m surprised how openly he writes about it, and I have to admit, I wouldn’t feel any different if I saw a photo of Jensen and his new boyfriend. And the knowledge that he’s happy for me gives me peace.

_I_ _’_ _m still single. I first have to learn to love myself again before I can give my heart to som_ _eone else. But I_ _’_ _m on the right path, even if it has been rocky and sometimes it still is. I_ _’_ _ve found a good shrink here in London, Lilian. She doesn_ _’_ _t push me, but she always manages to dig deeper and even deeper. She elicits things, insights, and I never knew that these emotions, these doubts, ever existed. It_ _’s_ _good to have someone who isn’t personally involved. That_ _’_ _s another thing I disavowed back then. I just trusted you – us. I thought we were invincible and we could do everything, as long as we were together. My stubbornness was the reason we lost everything. It was a very painful lesson to learn for the both of us, but_ _today I know that sometimes you have to accept help from outside._

Oh Jen… I wish you would have realized this earlier. But he’s right. We believed we were invincible; we were so sure about our relationship, our love. He thought it was enough, that love could heal every wound… but he was wrong. In the end, all the love I had for him, all my sympathies, couldn’t help him. But I’m glad that he realizes it now and finally has help.

_As you probably know, I retired from acting. My counselor in Dallas, where I was living for a couple of months after we split up, advised me to do so. I haven_ _’_ _t regretted it yet, but I miss it a bit. This summer I played a little role in a drama - only after my buddy Laurie talked me into taking a part, though._

_Playing live, standing on that small stage, is very different from being on set and standing in front of a camera. There_ _’_ _s no second chance, just the here and now and your endeavor and ambition to play your character as good as possible every night. It_ _’_ _s a much more intensive experience, a thrill, and I loved it._

Smiling, I think about Jensen acting on a small stage and admire his courage. Especially because there is no second chance. You need so much more talent to do it than shooting a blockbuster where you shoot a scene again and again, from all angles, until it is absolutely perfect.

_I_ _’_ _ve been living in London for over one year now. It_ _’_ _s a beautiful, busy city, and even though the British are so different to us Americans, I feel at home here. I_ _’_ _ve been lucky enough to find friends who are supportive, and who are encouraging me to have a go at something new, like Laurie._

_To be honest, she often reminds me of you, being lively and bouncy. Probably that_ _’_ _s why I like her so much. But as much as I like her, she isn_ _’_ _t you_ .

I remember the few times I’ve been to London myself and try to imagine Jensen living in this metropolis. And even though London is so different to his hometown, I’m not really surprised that he feels at home there. It’s a city of artists and Jensen has always been one.

_The photo on the Christmas card is an impression of Hyde Park in winter. I have a walk there almost every day and there_ _’_ _s a bench opposite that tree where I always take a little break, sitting there, thinking, remembering. A beautiful, quiet place, the opposite of the busy city with all its impressions._

Now I finally take the Christmas card, eyeing the photo. It’s a beautiful shot in black and white, with the tree’s branch, growing over a narrow graveled path, covered in white frost, and the lawn in the background sugarcoated with snow. Opening the card, I read Jensen’s Christmas wishes and my heart warms up because they are so honest and sincere – much more affectionate than those I read in the morning.

_Since I_ _moved to London, I’ve had plenty of time for my hobbies. You know, I_ _’_ _ve always enjoyed taking photos. But now it_ _’_ _s different. Sometimes I drive to the countryside, take long walks and take photos of trees, flowers, scenery, animals, people – almost everything I can catch. And I started to write, short stories and novels. Until now, no one has read them except my sister and Laurie. Both think I should try to have them published, but I_ _’_ _m not sure. They_ _’r_ _e rather personal because there_ _’_ _s a part of me in every story, in every character. Apart from that, I also started learning foreign languages, for a start Spanish and German. It´s hard, but it_ _’_ _s a challenge and it gives me the chance to socialize twice a week._

Wow, I’m impressed. And a little jealous of all the time Jensen has to develop those new ways he found to express himself. Most of all though, I’m happy for him. He found something that challenges him, that makes him happy, and that helps him to find himself again. I wish I could read one of his stories and discover a bit of Jensen in every character.

_Jared, I know I owe you an explanation, an apology. But the fact is, there are just no words that can excuse what I did and can undo what happened._

That’s true. Whatever you say, you can’t change what you did and you can’t make it better. But maybe you can make it easier.

_Nevertheless, I want to take the chance to do it. Life´s too short to live in the past, but at the end of my life, I don_ _’_ _t want to look back and realize that I lost the best friend I_ _’_ _ve ever had because I was too proud to ask for forgiveness. And apart from that, Lilian advised me to do it. She said that I don_ _’t_ _even have to send the letter – it would be enough to write it, and to tell you all the things I necessarily want to tell you before it_ _’_ _s too late eventually. Somehow, I have the feeling time_ _’_ _s running out. Maybe it_ _’_ _s already too late, after more than two years._

Is it too late? I don’t know, I can’t tell if we already reached the point of no return, where it isn’t possible to merge our lives once more. I have never expected to hear from Jensen again and I’m grateful that he made this step. He not only dared to write this letter, but he also posted it. It must have taken Jensen a lot of willpower to put the letter in the mailbox, to let go, and to share all these very personal thoughts and emotions with me.

_I think I_ _’_ _ve always felt too safe and secure with you. You helped me up again and again, giving me so many second chances these last two years. And when you couldn_ _’_ _t do it any longer, I was disappointed; I felt turned down, not wanted and not loved. And in my pain I fled into the arms of a complete stranger. Back then, the drugs had me completely under control and it was just about me. I was an egoistic bastard and couldn_ _’_ _t understand that you couldn_ _’_ _t give me more. Today, I know that you gave me everything. It has taken me a long time for me to realize it, but believe me, Jay, it was the moment when I hated myself for what I did to you, and for what I destroyed thanks to my behavior: the most important thing I_ _’_ _ve ever had - us._

Mmm I don’t know. Did I give him everything? It gives me a bit of peace to know that Jensen thinks I did, but the nagging uncertainty, the question if I should have done even more isn’t gone. No one can give me absolution for having done nothing and for letting Jensen go.

_If I think about those two last years of our relationship, about lying to myself and to you, about denying that there was a problem, I_ _’_ _m ashamed. And I_ _’_ _m so sorry for what I_ _’_ _ve done to you. For a long time I couldn_ _’_ _t even have given you an explanation for what I did. Jay, I always thought I was happy because I had everything I needed - you. And there shouldn_ _’_ _t have been one single reason that drove me into addiction, or that led me to repress reality with drugs. Today, I know that there had been multiple reasons for what I did; things that influenced me back when I was a kid as well as experiences and fears as an adult._

Pensively, I’m looking at Jensen’s words. He is right. We did have everything we needed: us. But sometimes even that isn’t enough to be happy. Sometimes even the greatest love and the deepest bond can’t help to overcome problems and cope with them.

_It_ _’_ _s no secret, least for you, that those two years after Supernatural_ _weren’t_ _easy for me. You did everything you could to support me, Jay, but when I just couldn_ _’_ _t get new roles, and always failed when the target was within grasp, while you got offer after offer, I felt utterly useless. Like a kept woman. Of course you never gave me that feeling. It was just my pride, wanting to stand on my own two feet in our relationship. And it was this pride that made me take the first role I was offered after months and months of waiting, even though so many had advised against working with that director and producer. I wonder if what happened afterwards would have happened at all if I just had listened to you, Jay. Probably not. I wouldn_ _’_ _t have broken down, I wouldn_ _’_ _t have been abused by the producer, and I wo_ _uldn_ _’t_ _ha_ _ve taken these amphetamines my co-star gave me. And I wouldn_ _’_ _t have needed the painkillers that numbed everything._

I close my eyes and can clearly remember my attempts to talk Jensen out of accepting the role in that project, telling him that he doesn’t need it, that he has to be patient, that the perfect role would come sooner or later. I recall noticing that Jensen had taken some kind of drug to survive the day and remember that uneasy feeling in my gut. And I remember watching him, without doing anything, until it was too late.

_To blame everything on the project was an easy lie. A lie like the one I carried around myself for years – and that forced you to carry it as well. God, Jay, I was so stupid, not standing up to you, to us. It was unforgivable. I should have marked your words, I should have trusted you, and I should have taken an example on your courage and candor. But I just couldn_ _’_ _t do it back then. The fear of being discriminated, of being turned down by friends, or losing the bit of reputation I had was too bi_ _g. I didn_ _’t see that_ _I had ev_ _erything I needed: you and our families_ _’_ _support. This should have been enough to be happy. But it wasn_ _’_ _t. I was greedy, and I wanted so much more. Without even realizing it, I became an egoistic dick, not giving in._

_Today, I see you handling your sexuality so openly and naturally, without shouting it from the rooftops, and I can finally understand why you wanted us to come out. It was never about coming out, but about being yourself, and not living a lie, wasn_ _’_ _t it? I_ _’_ _m really sorry that I_ _’_ _ve held you back, prevented you to be completely yourself for so long, and that I made you lie about such an important part of you._

_It_ _’_ _s good to see that Mark isn_ _’_ _t as uptight as I am, that he is proud of who he is, that he accompanies you on the red carpet, and holds your hand like any other couple._

Jensen. Oh Jen… It’s true, I’d have loved for us to come out. But I always respected his decision, and even understood it to a certain degree. He had much bigger problems accepting the fact that he is gay, and was much more self-conscious about it. As happy as we were, being “different”, a minority, always burdened his shoulder.

_I know I broke your heart back then on that fateful day in September. I said before that there isn_ _’_ _t an excuse for what I did, but nevertheless, I need to say it one last time:_

_Jay, I´m sorry._

_Please let me assure you that I_ _’_ _ve never been so sorry about anything in my life. I_ _’_ _m sorry that I stormed out of our place after our awful argument, running into the next club. I_ _’_ _m sorry that, wasted as I was thanks to drugs and too much alcohol, I fucked the first stranger who wanted to let me fuck him. I regret it deeply, and I know I can never make it up again. I deserved that you threw me out of the house after the photos were published on the internet, and that you haven_ _’_ _t spoken to me since._

I can feel my eyes burning with tears and something loosens in my heart, this dull pain that I carried along with me until today, the bitter disappointment about what Jensen, whom I trusted unconditionally, did to me. But I also remember all the wonderful years we had together, as friends and as lovers, and I’m finally ready to forgive him, even though I can never forget.

_I can_ _’_ _t even imagine what you went through back then. And I won_ _’_ _t burden you by moaning about what I went through in those weeks and months after we split up. Because this letter isn’t about me, Jay, it_ _’_ _s about you, and maybe the us we once had. But if you want to know, maybe I will tell you one day._

Back then, when I was lying at home for days, apathetic, shocked, and deeply hurting, crying my heart out, I was still wondering how Jensen felt, how he was. Nevertheless, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be ready to hear about it, or if I can tell him about my feelings; about me trashing our furniture in anger and wrath, about me being so desperate that I seriously thought about ending my life because, without Jensen, it seemed to be so worthless, empty and pointless, and about me being a shadow of my former self, and forgetting how to laugh, for many, many days.

_Enough about this, I wrote what I wanted to write and did what Lilly advised me to do. If it was up to her, I probably could put away the pen and finish this letter. But strangely I don_ _’_ _t want to. Writing this feels a bit like when we were separated during hiatus and we wrote emails whenever we found enough time in our full schedules. It feels like I am talking to you and I_ _’_ _m enjoying it. And do you know why? Because I realize how much I miss you. Not only as a partner, but also as a friend. Our relationship was the cherry on the cake, but our friendship was a wonderful, precious gift and miracle._

Yeah, it was a gift. Connecting in an instant, coming closer every day until we finally crossed that invisible border between friendship and love. And if I’m just honest with myself, even if I haven’t thought about Jensen for a long time, I miss him too.

_And even if I don_ _’_ _t believe in miracles anymore, I learned in the past few months that there is at least hope. Maybe we can meet in friendship again one day, Jay. And I_ _’_ _d like to do the first step, that’s the least I can do_

_I will spend Christmas with my parents and will fly over to the States a couple of days earlier. I thought we might meet up… I´ll wait in Starbucks at the Rivercenter in San Antonio for two hours from 3 pm on December 23rd. Maybe you want to come. Just to talk. But please don_ _’_ _t think you have to. I can understand if you don_ _’_ _t want to ever see me again._

Wow… a meeting… what a strange thought to see Jensen again. Nice and frightening at the same time. I’m not sure if I’m ready. It piques my interest to meet him again, but there are so many things that can be said against it. My fragile emotional health that has taken ages to stabilize after we broke up, and might break down once more if I see Jensen again. And my relationship with Mark, who probably won’t be too happy with me meeting my ex.

_Well, those two photos I enclosed… I mentioned before that I´m taking loads of photos. I built a little darkroom in my apartment and a few weeks earlier I found a couple of old undeveloped films. I didn_ _’_ _t have a clue how old they were. It was like a little gift, a memory of good old times when I finally looked at the photos. I think you_ _’_ _re looking pretty good on both of them; they_ _’_ _re showing two of your faces – the thoughtful and the happy Jared, and that_ _’_ _s why I wanted you to have them. Can you still remember when I took them?_

_I had to think about it for a long time, but the first one, the one on set, was taken while shooting “Mystery Spot”. We were both wrecked and you were uncommonly angsty and thoughtful the whole week. You were sitting on your trailer´s ice-cold steps, looking into the distance and seemed so young and thoughtful. I think you didn_ _’_ _t even notice me taking this photo because you let your mind wander so far away._

Intensely, I’m staring at the mentioned photo. Jensen is right; I look very contemplative on it. Thanks to his explanation, I can remember that particular day pretty well, can recall my emotions when we shot this episode. Sam had to watch Dean die over and over again and it took such a great toll on me, having to remember that it was Dean who was dying, not Jensen. Eventually, I hugged Jensen tightly, asking him to never leave me. A few months later we were lovers. Back then I was so sure that it’d be for eternity and that he’d really never leave me.

_The other is a more recent memory and I_ _’_ _m sure you_ _’_ _ll recognize it straight away – Our first holiday as boyfriends on a glorious, sunny beach in Mauritius. We were so happy, just the two of us for those three weeks. I can still hear the rush of the waves and your laughter when I took this photo._

I’m looking at the photo, at my laugh and at my dimples which were Jensen’s favorite part of me. I can hear the rush of the waves and the cry of the gulls as well. I feel the hot sand beneath my naked feet, the sun on my skin, and the light breeze. And Jensen’s hand in mine. Yes, we were so happy back then. It strikes me like lightning that I haven’t been that lighthearted, in love and happy like in those first years of our relationship and that there hasn’t been anything that has been able to conjure such a happy smile on my face ever since we split up.

_Jay, I hope you can remember those experiences with as much love and happiness as I do and keep them in your heart, even though there_ _’_ _s a lot of shit standing between us._

I haven’t thought about Jensen for a long time, repressed these memories, but haven’t forgotten them. I smile when I realize that you can step onto a new road without losing the old one out of your sight, or heart, that our mistakes were disastrous but that grudge shouldn’t last forever, especially if there are so many things and memories that connect one to the other. This realization envelops me, causing a nice, happy, but at the same time, regretful feeling in my stomach.

_Well, I think I should finish this letter now. There_ _’_ _s still so much to say, so much to tell, but I want to keep something if we really should meet. And apart from that, I don´t know if you will or want to read what I just wrote. So I won´t bore you any longer._

You didn’t bore me, Jen. I actually feel sorry that the letter is ending. I could have read on for hours, taking in Jensen’s words and thoughts.

_Dear Jared, maybe these are the last words I_ _’_ _ll ever "say" to you. But at least I did, and now you (hopefully) know how sorry I am for what happened, and that I remember our times together with nothing but love. Maybe one day you can see it like that, too._

_I_ _want_ _you to know that I_ _’_ _ll never stop loving you, and that I regret that it has taken me such a long time realize it._

_I hope you know that I wish you just the best._

_Enjoy your success; you deserve it so much. Live every moment like it is your last. I wish you health and happiness, but most of all, Jay, I wish you love. I hope you found someone who will be with you for the rest of your life and will make you happy every day._

_I hope we will meet again, but even if we don_ _’_ _t, you_ _’_ _ll forever be in my heart._

_Take care,_

_With love,_

_Jensen_

Lost in memories I’m staring at Jensen’s last words, the letter in my shaking hand, resting lightly on my lap.

At first I don’t even notice that tears are running down my cheeks once I realize what I’ve lost. The realization that I miss Jensen like an amputated limb, that I don’t love Mark as much as I’ve loved Jensen, even though he is dear to my heart, hits me like a hard punch. Not in the slightest does my current boyfriend make me as happy as Jensen did. This storm of emotions overwhelms me so unexpectedly that I don’t know how to handle it.

Coiling up on the couch, hugging myself, I cry myself to sleep.

***

Shuddering, I wake up a few hours later, skin cold to the touch and body stiff and cramped. Only covered by a thin blanket, the nightly temperatures are too cold, even for a walking furnace like me, and the sofa is much too small for my freakishly tall body.

The clock on the bookshelf tells me it isn’t even 5 am yet. A hearty yawn escapes my throat as I stretch my limbs, and only then do I notice that Jensen’s letter did glide off my grip while I was sleeping.

With the last page on top, the letter is scattered over the hardwood floor and Jensen’s  _“with love”_ catches my eye again.

Countless memories of eight years together are running through my mind.

Meeting for the first time, hugging Jensen and, somehow, knowing at once that it was the beginning of a wonderful friendship.

Shooting the pilot, and the awe about our great chemistry.

Hanging out together, watching TV or playing games. Our banter. Our pranks.

Warmth spreading through my veins as Jensen fell asleep on my shoulder. Entwined hands to give comfort, a light squeeze and a soft brush of fingers.

Going on holidays together and painting the town red.

Crying when I finally realized that I was in love with my best friend, and missed him more than anything.

A tenderly whispered “I love you” as we were sitting in Jensen’s trailer after an exhausting and emotional shot.

Kissing softly, and holding each other so close.

My heart beating faster – a wonderful warm feeling in my belly - with the knowledge of being loved.

Feeling Jensen, so close and warm, literally making love.

Eyes closed, I’m curled up on the sofa, thinking of Jensen, our friendship, our relationship, and somehow, I can hear his deep, familiar voice, softly whispering,  _“with love”_ .

Without thinking about the consequences for me or my relationship with Mark, I decide to go and see Jensen. I’m unsure if I’m really ready for it, if it’s such a clever idea, but nevertheless, it’s something I need to do, like an urge. It’s not that I feel obliged to meet my ex-boyfriend, but after all that time; it’s the least I can do.

If not to Jensen, I at least owe it to myself.

No matter how it ends, I only can find complete happiness when I can finally close this chapter.

**One week later**

My parents think that I need to get some last minute Christmas presents as I wave them goodbye, steering my dad’s car towards the city center. Mark, though, knows what really draws me there. Like expected, he still is everything but happy about me meeting Jensen.

Lying to him wasn’t an option, and so I told him about the meeting after I had made my decision. Mouth wide open, staring at me in disbelief, it took him a while to process what I was about to do. Once it finally sunk in, he didn’t hesitate to share his not-too-nice thoughts with me, and tried more than once to change my mind in the past few days.

When he noticed that I was determined to go and see Jensen, he insisted on coming with me, but that just wasn’t an option. Meeting Jensen is something I have - and want - to do on my own. It has nothing to do with Mark and I really don’t want to have him with me; I have to face my ex-boyfriend on my own, without someone who’s holding my hand and protecting me.

Even before I left, Mark tried to convince me to call it off once more, gesturing widely, reasoning with me. It was no good, it only made me angry; why can’t he understand that I need to see Jensen again?

Once I finally left, ditching him in my old childhood bedroom, his face was full of disappointment, jealousy, and incomprehension. But how could Mark ever understand how much Jensen meant to me?

It feels strange, wrong, but thinking about seeing Jensen again makes me nervous. It shouldn’t be like that because, no matter how it ended between us, we had been so close for eight years, like soul mates, alike two peas in a pod. But I can’t change it. The imagination of facing Jensen again in a few minutes makes me queasy and my slightly trembling hands are tightly pressed against the steering wheel, as if it were some sort of life-belt. Normally never lost for words, I honestly wonder how I should greet Jensen, what I could tell him, how I should behave. Like the best buddy Jensen had been? Like a stranger? Or something in between?

***

Once I finally arrive at the shopping mall, it fortunately doesn’t take me long to snatch a parking lot in the crowded garage. I don’t get out of the car immediately after I’ve turned off the engine, but hesitate, not really sure if I should go at all. Suddenly the thought of driving back home and hiding in my room beneath the covers like a little kid and forget Jensen and our past for good is very tempting.

But I just can’t do it. If Jensen really meant what he wrote - and I don’t doubt it - he’s been waiting for me for a while now, not knowing if I even got his letter, or if I would come at all. How nerve-wracking must it be for him, when even I feel worse than at my first ever audition?Jensen is right here, in this building, closer than he has been for over two years. How could I possibly show the white feather now and retreat like a frightened dog? If Jensen is ready to face me and our past, I can do it as well.

Jensen and I have been to the Rivercenter more than once when we went to see my folks during hiatus. Maybe that’s why he chose that place for our meeting - anonymous enough, but still, full of happy memories.

As I hurry through the crowd, countless heads swimming in a sea of people, I can’t help but recall some of our visits there; having ice-cream or dinner, spending tons of money, not only for ourselves, but also for our friends and family, buying all kind of useful and useless things.

Once Starbucks is in sight, I slow down my pace, catching some deep breaths, trying in vain to calm my heartbeat, knocking heavily against my chest.

Being as ready as I can be, steps more confident than I feel, I enter the cafe. It’s busy but not crowded, with even a few empty tables left.

Slowly, I let my glance wander over the tables, once, twice, thrice. It seems like Jensen stood me up and I feel relieved but disappointed and sad at the same time, realizing that I had even been looking forward to seeing my old friend again.

Shaking my head, I want to turn around, when I finally catch a glimpse of a very familiar face from the corner of my eye. Looking more closely I definitely recognize the man. He is sitting at the furthest removed table, a mug of coffee next to him and reading a paper.

God, it’s him... after all those years. Feeling more nauseous than before, the level of pleasant anticipation and tense expectation is unbelievably high, almost overflowing me. Another futile deep breath later, I force myself to move those few yards that still separate me from Jensen. Every step on my weak legs feels unbelievably hard, but then it’s done in an instant.

“Jensen?” My voice, normally so loud and strong, is uncommonly quiet, the nervousness audible in those few letters that form his name.

Putting down his paper, Jensen looks up in slow motion until his green eyes look straight into my hazel ones. His face, concentrated and neutral while he was reading, is now all smiling lips and eyes.

“Jared. Wow… you came,” he stutters, shaking his head in disbelief, like he can’t believe it’s really me. “I, um.. didn’t expect you to.”

Once Jensen gets up, I see the proof of him being as nervous as I am. An almost imperceptible shudder running through his body, Jensen shyly bites his lower lip, scratching his neck and looking more nervous than I can remember ever having seen him.

Hesitating, he steps closer, almost into my personal space as if he would love to give me a hug. But I’m not ready to feel him in my arms again, or to let him back into my heart. Maybe I’ll never be. With a sad little smile on my face, I take a little step back.

For a second, a shadow creeps over his features, showing disappointment and hurt, but then he smiles again, like he understands.

“Jared," he says again. "Hey. Hi. Want a coffee? Want to stay? Or go somewhere else?” He nervously plays with his fingers, swaying a bit, unsure if he should sit down or leave.

In a way, Jensen’s jumpiness helps me a little to calm down myself. “I’m good." It’s true, Starbucks is as good a place as any, not too cozy and comfortable, and crowded enough to prevent a scene if something like that is every likely to happen, which I doubt anyways. "You stay. I’m going to fetch my own coffee. Want one too?”

Shaking his head, pointing towards his mug that is still almost full, he sits down, mumbling something about waiting for me. "Be right back," I promise, hurrying over to line up. I’m almost relieved to get away, even if only for a couple of minutes, because the atmosphere between us is tense, awkward and uncomfortable. Like we are strangers.

Could that be, after all those years? Yeah, probably. Some things are so severe that they can ruin everything that used to be – turn love to hate and friends to enemies.

Then I remember what happened the last time we saw each other; the tears, the harsh  words yelled in grief and disappointment. Maybe it isn’t a surprise that we’re both uneasy and unsure. This fight is still standing between us like an invisible wall, even though more than two years have passed, and despite the letter Jensen wrote. The only thing we can do now is build something else, something new, to overcome that wall.

Loaded with two mugs of coffee and two muffins I sit down at our small table a couple of minutes later. I know what Jensen said, but it’s my turn to make a step towards him now, and I always used to win his heart with coffee or cake.

Placing the muffins on the round table, I slide the mug in front of his nose.

Arching his eyebrow in surprise, Jensen can’t resist taking in the strong, delicious smell of the freshly brewed beverage, a knowing smile on his lips. "Thanks, man".

I just smile in return, taking a strong gulp of my own coffee and closing my eyes for a moment. The liquid is almost too hot, and it burns my throat as it runs down, warming my belly and driving the queasiness away.

Looking up again I see Jensen pensively staring into the dark brown liquid of his coffee, inhaling its scent, sliding the mug from one hand into the other and back again. Lost in our own thoughts, we share the silence, but before it gets uncomfortable, Jensen looks up.

“So, you got my letter… read it… and came." He shakes his head like he still can’t believe that this is real. "Thanks, Jay. It really means a lot to me.” Jensen has always been a great actor but, nevertheless, I know he means it. His voice, his expression, and the glimmer of tears in his eyes are just too authentic to be fake.

“Don’t mention it. It’s fine. I did not only do it for you," I admit, "but for myself, too. I… I think I just, you know, owed it to, well, us.” Taking another generous gulp of the coffee, I use the time to rearrange all those thoughts and emotions whirling through my mind. “Getting your letter, Jensen... I couldn’t believe it at first. It was so unexpected, and it blew me away. After we broke up, I thought that was it. I never believed I’d hear from you again." Massaging my temples with my right hand, shadowing my face, I hope that Jensen doesn’t see how emotional I am now. "Thank you. For writing in the first place. And your honesty."

There’s nothing Jensen can answer to that, and I don’t really expect him to. I just accept his little sad smile as another peace offering.

I’m not done yet. If Jensen can say that he is sorry, he at least deserves something in return, like a bit of forgiveness. "God, Jensen, I’ll never forget what you did to me, to us, but I can forgive you." Now that it’s out I know I mean it. I don’t want it to stand between us any longer. "I know that you didn’t do it to punish me, or because you are a mean person, because you aren’t. I know it was the drugs taking control over your soul, your mind, your life – just everything. And even though you didn’t write about it, Jensen, I know that you suffered as much as I did when it was over." It isn’t easy for me to speak about it, but I have to. Who knows if I’ll ever have the chance again? "I wasn’t a saint either, Jensen. We were always loyal and true to each other, and I should have forgiven you this one silly one night stand. Things like that can happen, even in the best families." I sigh. "Or maybe, I should have prevented it from happening in the first place, by not letting you go. But back then, Jensen… I was so fed up with your lies, with your excuses, with your fucking behavior... I just couldn’t do it.” I feel my mood turning, from sad to bitter and I force myself to stop talking. I’ve said enough and I don’t want to pick a fight or, even worse, let my feelings run free and start crying.

“I’m sorry, Jay.” The use of my familiar nickname sends a comfortable shiver run down my spine and the apology, three simple words, is so sincere that nothing else needs to be said.

I take a deep breath. “I know that, Jensen.”

We both look up at the same time and our eyes meet and lock, jade and hazel, not letting go, looking at each other for a long time.

I discover the first few gray streaks on Jensen’s temple and in his stubble, notice that the prominent crow’s feet around his eyes and wrinkles on his forehead are deeper. It is written all over Jensen’s face that he went through two very hard years, that he went through his own hell, and that everything that happened was probably even worse for him than for me. There’s something in his eyes that I haven’t seen there before, a mixture of sadness, wisdom, and fatigue you normally only see in old people’s faces when they reach the end of their lives. It makes me shudder, wondering what Jensen had to suffer, what truths lie behind his eyed, and what sorrow and pain burdens his mind.

Nevertheless, it’s still Jensen’s face. I recognize each and every one of the freckles I loved so much and discover new ones. Smiling, I remember one night I couldn’t fall asleep, no matter how hard I tried. Eventually, I concentrated on my boyfriend, watching Jensen dreaming peacefully curled up to my side. Face relaxed, looking so much younger than he was, I tried to count all his freckles until sleep finally embraced me.

“You’re looking good, Jay. And," Jensen swallows hard, now obviously fighting to hold back his tears, "It’s so good to see you.”

I’m touched that this reunion means so much to him. "It’s good to see you too." Only now I slowly realize how much I miss Jensen. "I hope you don’t mind me being so blunt, but you’re a little pale around your freckled nose, Jensen. You look tired." It’s an understatement. Without doubt, Jensen is still an attractive man, but he almost looks as sick as he used to be when he was using drugs. He’s pale, like he hadn’t seen the sun for a while or had only just been sucked out by a vampire, and there are half-mooned shaped shadows beneath his eyes and their green is dull, not brilliant as they used to be. “You aren’t sick, are you?”

“Of course not. I’m fine,” he answers evasively, avoiding eye contact. It’s obvious that he is keeping something away from me, but I’m not going to dig. He’d deny it anyway and it isn’t my place to ask.

Deftly, I change the subject; if there is something to tell, Jensen will tell me once he is ready. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I should come. When I got out of the car, I wanted to turn back and drive home. But now, now it’s good to be here. Weird but good. We used to be so close and now… I don’t really know what to say." Nervously, I run my fingers through my mop of hair. "Babbling such nonsense.”

Jensen is laughing and it’s wonderful, something I haven’t heard for just too long. It’s something I’ve missed. “It’s okay. Really, I don’t feel different," he admits. "For eight years we were joined at the hip. Now, we haven’t seen each other for over two years. I’m sure there’s something to talk about, Jay. Not necessarily what happened. I’m not here to get absolution." He shakes his head, fixing his tired eyes on my face intensely. "I hope that’s not what you think."

“Nah." It’s good to hear his apologies, but I’m sure Jensen is here for another reason. Maybe it’s really just to see me again. Maybe it’s to close the chapter for good. Maybe it’s for something I can’t see yet. "You never disappointed me apart from once, and," I swallow hard, "your heart is in the right place, Jensen.” Before my feelings threaten to overwhelm me, I add, without even noticing that I’ve said it before, “Your letter really surprised me, Jensen. You were right. First, I wanted to get rid of it." I smile regretfully. "But, you definitely still know me too well, because I was just too curious to find out what you had to say." Now I smile broadly, because, like my mom would say, one day my curiosity will be my doom. "And I enjoyed it. It was a good letter.”

Jared smiles back sincerely. “Thanks, Jay. For, you know, giving me this," he points to me and himself, "chance. For meeting me."

"You’re welcome. It’s a chance for both of us."

“Tell me about you,” we prompt simultaneously, laughing lightheartedly like back then.

“Fire away, Jay." He grins." I wrote you everything."

“I know nothing. You just mentioned some things without really telling me anything. Just tell me about your life in London," I prompt, "about your new buddies, about that Laurie gal. She seems to be important to you." I wriggle my brows. Even though I know Jensen is as gay as a man can be, I want to tease him a little. "Tell me... you know, just everything. Photography... and yeah, your books. That’s so remarkable, Jensen! What are you writing about?”

“Wow.” He laughs. “That’s a lot of questions. Do you have the time to hear the answers?” He seems surprised but pleased with me taking such an interest in his new life.

“Sure,” I answer without thinking, though I wonder what Mark and my parents will say if I come back in the dead of night after my so-called shopping tour. I don’t expect Mark to lie for me. Sooner or later, he’ll tell my folks what I’m really up to.

“Awesome." He smiles widely. "Don’t have any other plans." His eyes are shining because I won’t take to my heels that soon.

Then Jensen starts to talk, first a bit hesitantly and reserved, like back when we didn’t know each other that well and I had to worm so many information out of him. But the longer he talks, the livelier he gets. He extensively describes his life in London, his little apartment in Bayswater, and his trips to the countryside, the historical English towns he visited and photographed. With eyes sparkling, Jensen tells me about Laurie, who he met at a self-help group for addicts when he moved to London, about her brother Howard and their friends Emma and Colin. He mentions the language classes, how hard but also satisfying it is to learn a foreign language. And in the end, full of enthusiasm, Jensen tells me about his writing: the classes for creative writing he took, the stories he already wrote, and the countless ideas he still has.

Soaking up his words, seeing the satisfaction and happiness in Jensen’s face, I find myself feeling sincerely happy for him. For months, I haven’t thought, I haven’t cared about Jensen, yet listening to him now, seeing him gesturing widely, and his pale face finally blushing a little, his eyes sparkling, I’m honestly grateful that he found something that completes him, maybe more than acting ever did.

Once Jensen mentions his new friends, them hanging out together in a pub and going on trips to the countryside, another feeling washes over me that I hadn’t expected... jealousy. Of course, I don’t have any right to be jealous, as little as Jensen has any right to be jealous of Mark, but I can’t help to envy Laurie and Co. They’re so lucky of having Jensen in their life! They could see Jensen discovering himself anew again, can support and cheer him, and can simply be with him while I didn’t even think about Jensen anymore.

Not for the first time, I’m ashamed that I deserted him... I could have done, should have done, more for him. On the other hand, I’m grateful that Jensen isn’t alone, and that he has real friends over there in London, people he can lean on and rely on – a stability he needs.

Time passes. The muffins are long gone and we are so enthralled in our chatter that we forgot to fetch fresh coffee, and not noticing much that has been going on around us, least of all the time. Eventually, my belly growls in protest, needing to be fed again, and I suggest to go to the Italian restaurant around the corner instead, not only for the food but also for a quieter, more comfortable atmosphere. Jensen agrees instantly; again something that hasn’t changed - he always had a weak spot for Italian food.

Once we order our dinner, I think it’s best to send Mark a sign of life and let him know that I’ll be back much later than he expects me to be. I know he won’t be happy, having to spend the evening with my parents, but I don’t really care after the fuss he made. And the atmosphere between Jensen and I is just too comfortable and too good to leave now anyways. I simply don’t want to go - who knows when we will meet again?

Fingers dancing over the numbers of my cell, I hurry to send Mark a short text, feeling Jensen’s curious look at me.

"Boyfriend," I offer in explanation. It’s not a big secret anyways and he doesn’t ask anything, just sips on his coke and waits until I’m done. I’m sure it’s just show and he’s probably dying to hear about him and it makes me smile.

Sliding my cell back into my back pocket, it’s my turn to tell Jensen about my life.

He understands that I couldn’t stay at our old place, and that I had to move out, no matter how much I loved the house. Every inch there reminded me of us. I tell him about my next movie project, where I’ll be working as an Executive Producer for the first time. And, because it’s clear Jensen is curious, I mention Mark and my family more than once. He asks a few well directed though not too personal questions, probably hoping to find out whether it’s serious between us or if I am happy.

Looking at him thoughtfully for a while, I finally offer, smiling knowingly, “Jensen, just ask me what you want to know."

His expression tells me that I caught him in the act, and he looks slightly guilty, his fingers running through his spiked hair like he always used to do when he was embarrassed.

I chuckle once I notice how well we still know each other after all this time: a look, a gesture or a simple sigh. In a way, it’s a constant. No matter what happened between us, some things are still like they used to be from the beginning.

Voice deep and quiet, Jensen finally asks me what he wants to know. “Are you happy, Jay?”

It’s a personal question but I don’t mind it. In a way, it’s just fair and, well, understandable that he wants to know. I’d have asked the same if our places were reversed, if it had been me, not Jensen, who had destroyed our relationship.

“I don’t know, Jen." It’s the first time I use the familiar nickname and it makes Jensen smile a little melancholic smile. "Remember, you asked that in your letter?" Jensen nods, but I don’t really expect him to say something, so I just keep on thinking about the question, about the answer. "It was only one week ago and, well, I thought _“Yeah, I am”_. But today." I sigh heavily, thinking about perfect moments and good days, about joy and happiness. "Today, Jen, I’m not that sure anymore. I’m content, I guess. Life is good. I have a great job, good friends, a supportive family and a boyfriend. He isn’t perfect, but no one is, least of all myself. Everything’s fine. But now I face the past again..." For months, I repressed all thoughts of Jensen and didn’t want to think about the things we lost. Instead, I took everything the way it happened without questioning it any further. It’s funny how that sometimes goes, how you try to convince yourself that you’re happy only to find out that you’re not. Or not like you used to be. "I know once more what’s missing in my life. Our connection, our bond, our chemistry... just everything. It was so remarkable and unique. And honestly, Jen, I don’t think that I’m as happy nowadays as I used to be when I was with you. But.." I shrug, because I don’t want to sound ungrateful and really, I’m not. "I’m happy enough. I have almost everything I need.” It is a very honest answer, but somehow it feels right to be honest with Jensen. “And you, Jen?" I just have to ask, I need to know. "Are you happy?”

He shrugs. “I’m grateful, Jay. For a new, different life. New friends. I think I’m as happy as I can still be. But I know what I lost.”

Silence spreads between us.

I think about what I just admitted and about Jensen’s honest words. It’s obvious what Jensen means, what he lost, as much as it is obvious why I only have almost everything I need.

Talking about it now though would probably just be way too much for today, would tear open barely healed wounds. I can’t do that, and I won’t dig any deeper now. We need so much more than an evening in an Italian restaurant, many more hours, probably days, to come to terms with our past, to relive good as well as bad memories. It’s better to keep it slow and decide if there even is a future for me and Jensen as friends before we possibly hurt each other again, just by talking about our feelings.

A young pretty waitress brings our desserts. As I thoughtfully spoon my Panna Cotta, an idea is slowly growing in my mind. “How long are you staying in the States?” I ask between a spoon and a mouthful of the delicious coffee.

“January. Spend New Year with Chris and Steve in LA."

Grinning, I remember the hilarious New Year parties, or at least I try to remember, because some of them… God, we were so fucking wasted. My grin must be contagious because a sassy smirk is charmed on Jensen’s tired face, making him look younger and healthier again, and I know he remembers as well.

Jensen being in LA over New Year’s Eve is exactly what I wanted to hear, giving me the chance to make my own first step towards my old co-star again. “I’ll be back to LA after Christmas, too. Want to meet up again before you head home?”

The old sparkle in his eyes is back for a second and it’s all the answer I need, giving me a long missed, but still comfortable, warm and fuzzy feeling in my belly.

There’s an awkward moment when we call it a day and I ask the waitress to bring the  tab. It goes without saying to pay for Jensen - not only because I can afford it, but simply because it was my idea to have dinner, and that it was my growling belly that couldn’t be without antipasti, pasta, meat and dessert. But I remember his letter, and his pride. I remember Jensen feeling like a kept woman when I paid for almost everything while we were living together. Jensen always wanted to be independent, wanted to take care of himself. I never again want to take that away from him.

"That’s on me." I point towards the check.

"I..." Jensen starts but I cut him off with an impatient gesture.

"I know you can pay for yourself, Jen. But you know, this here was my idea. I know you would have stayed at Starbucks until they’d have thrown us out." I giggle. "So just let me do this, okay? Just see it as my thanks, for writing and giving us this chance, this great day. I have to admit, I wouldn’t have had the guts to do it."

Jensen laughs. "It’s okay. It was my step to make. So yeah, pay the fucking check. If I had known," Jensen banters, "I’d have taken the big salad. And a second dessert."

Laughing, I pull one of my credit cards out of my wallet and, as I wait for the waitress to return it, realize that I actually regret that the evening is coming to an end. It has been several hours but in a way... it is over too soon, barely giving us the chance to catch up and even less, to make it up to each other.

It’s past 11 pm when we finally leave the restaurant, stopping in front of it, unsure where to go from here. The shopping mall is almost empty, all shops now closed apart from restaurants and diners, most people gone.

“Want me to give you a ride to your hotel?" I offer Jensen, glad to have something to say to bridge the growing silence, pregnant with expectation.

“Thanks, but no." Jensen shakes his head. "It’s only a couple of blocks and I don’t mind walking.”

“Sure." I’m actually surprised how disappointed I am. I’d have loved to give Jensen a lift, spending some more minutes with him. And isn’t that a weird thought? For months I didn’t care, and now.... I really don’t know what to think anymore.

We silently stroll to the next escalator, quietly riding downstairs, somehow lost for words. I can only speak for myself, but right now I wonder how the story of Jared and Jensen is continued, if we really will see each other again in the new year, if our friendship has a chance.

“You know, you were right... I did change my number after we broke up. But, um, I really think it’s time you got it again." I feel strangely embarrassed, offering Jensen my new cell number. "Just call me when you want to meet up in LA. Or, whenever you want to talk. Anytime. Don’t hesitate, okay?”

Lips curled into a little smile, Jensen nods, pulling his cell out of his pocket and punching in my number, giving me his own in return.

Then it really is time to go our separate ways.

Slightly awkward, we both stand in the middle of the shopping mall, not sure what to say, what to do, until Jensen finally saves us both from an even longer silence. "Thanks, Jay. For coming. For staying. For paying." He chuckles. ”For giving me the chance to explain." He sounds and looks so grateful, so sincere, like I presented him with the biggest gift on earth. Who knows, maybe I did?

“You’re welcome. It was really good to see you again, Jen." I emphasize every word to make sure that Jensen knows I mean it. "Thanks for making this first step.”

He smiles a sad, weak smile and shrugs but doesn’t say anything other than, “See you" waving his hand once.

“Yeah, see you.”

Head bowed, he turns and leaves and I watch him go, dumbstruck. He’s almost at the door when I finally come to my senses, when I remember there is something I just need to do.

“Jen?” I call, voice echoing through the empty mall.

He turns around, looking at me in surprise. “Yeah?”

A couple of steps and I’m next to Jensen. "Come here," I whisper as I pull him into a bone-crunching hug, just to hold him close. Arms slipping around my torso, Jensen is hugging me back, his head pressed against my shoulder, his hands warm on my back. It feels so good, so familiar, to hold Jensen in my arms again and he still fits so well in there, like he was made for me. I take in deep breaths of Jensen’s still so familiar scent, of that aftershave that lingered on the writing paper, of his shampoo, of coffee. Long buried emotions threaten to finally overpower me and I feel my chest tighten in pain and joy.

“Merry Christmas, Jen,” I whisper into his ear, breath ghosting over the soft skin and hair there before he eventually lets go.

"Merry Christmas, Jay."

My eyes follow him until his shape is swallowed by the darkness outside and all that is left behind is a strange feeling of emptiness, happiness and something you might call love.

***

Both my parents and Mark aren’t happy with me when I finally arrive at home.

My folks are disappointed that I lied to them, that I simply didn’t tell them I was meeting up with Jensen again. Mom looks at me disapprovingly, telling me that she had raised me differently, that I should have trusted them.

Saying sorry, I kiss my mom, promising her that I will never do it again.

Then she smiles at me, reassures me that it’s okay and even wants to know how Jensen is.

Mark though… he is really pissed. Pissed that I spent the whole evening with my ex-boyfriend, the guy I once claimed to hate, even though these words were spoken in disappointment and desperation and were never really meant. Pissed that I enjoyed it.

The thing is, Mark hates Jensen from the bottom of his heart and he shows it, in every abusive word he uses, in everything he shouts at me while my mom tries to calm him down, tries to negotiate. He is jealous, he even admits it. He hates the thought that I was with him, that I laughed with him and that – and that’s probably the worst – I enjoyed it. 

To be fair, it’s probably not only jealousy; Mark is worried because he knows what I went through after Jensen and I split up. But I really had a fantastic time and it was so good, so right to see Jensen again, and looking back now, I wouldn’t have wanted to miss it.

It was worth this little tantrum Mark is throwing now; it definitely was.

**January 2016**

We celebrate New Year’s Eve with Chad. It’s a huge party in his villa, with countless guests, most of them complete strangers to me. Alcohol flows like water and it’s not the only drug offered, the smell of marijuana strong in the air. I wasn’t a choirboy when I was young, tried this and that, but after my painful experience with Jensen, and learning what drugs can do to a person, I promised myself never to touch anything but alcohol again.

The New Year is only one hour old when my cell, having vibrated with countless texts almost constantly, finally receives the message I have secretly been waiting for.

_Happy New Year, Jay. Want 2 meet 2morrow? J_

It makes me smile that Jensen signed with just one letter, like he always used to do.

_Back @ U :). When and where?”_

We send more texts until we finally agree on meeting in our old favorite bar around 8 pm. That should give us enough time to cure our hangover.

Less than 24 hours until I see Jensen again. I can’t tell why, but it makes me all giddy, smiley and bouncy.

I just want to ask Jensen if he’s having a blast at Chris’ party when Mark slumps down next to me.

“Who’re you sending all the texts to?” he asks curiously, voice already slurred because he had far much more booze than I. His eyes roam over my body and it makes me feel strangely uncomfortable and exposed – something that shouldn’t feel like that.

And as if it is Mark’s business whom I am texting to! But I’m in such a good mood, definitely don’t want to start a hassle, and I don’t need any scenes here in public. “Jensen," I explain, ignoring his wide growing eyes and his half opened mouth ready to spit out the newest curses, cutting him off with a gesture. "Let me finish. He’s in LA but will fly back to London soon. We’ll meet tomorrow. You can either come or stay at home, but whatever you do, behave and don’t try to convince me to stay away. I really don’t want to fight with you, Mark. I’m old enough. I can make my own decisions and I want to see Jensen again. He was my best friend."

“Mmm," he growls, looking everything but pleased. "I always behave. But it’s fine. Just go. Alone. Because I really don’t want to meet this sonofabitch.”

“Good. I’ll make it up," I promise my boyfriend, making a kissy mouth.

“Yeah, you will”. Mark pinches my thigh roughly and it’s clear what he is thinking about; it’s my turn for a hard, long fuck.

***

Playing absently with the label of my beer, I’m sitting at one of the farthest remote tables in our old favorite hangout, glancing at my watch again and again. Time seems to pass at a snail’s pace and it feels like I’ve already been waiting for half an eternity, not for half an hour. But Jensen is late or - even worse - has stood me up and the wait gnaws at me, making me more nervous than I should be.

As disappointment and anger slowly grows, I decide to set a time limit; if Jensen doesn’t miraculously appear in the next ten minutes, I’m gone.

Five minutes later, I finally spot him hurrying towards me. “Hey, Jay," he calls out of breath, even before he slumps down on the chair opposite of mine. "Sorry, man, the car broke down.”

“Jen.” I’m breathing out his name in relief. “Good to see you, man. Almost thought you stood me up." I laugh. "Are you good?" Jensen looks a little rushed but luckily not like something has happened to him.

“Sure, I’m peachy." Jensen smiles but it looks a little tortured. "Just a broken wheel, nothing else. Took me a while before I had it changed, though." He absently rubs his probably oily and dirty hands on his dark jeans. "Sorry that I didn’t call. I know I should have, but..."

“That’s okay. But you’re lucky. I’d have left in a couple of minutes. Can’t wait for you forever." I look at Jensen apologetically.

He gives me a warm, knowing smile. “Really?”

"Yeah. Um.... well." I laugh, because probably Jensen is right. I’d have added more and more minutes to my stupid ultimatum, just to make sure that I don’t miss him. And if I finally left, I’d have at least tried to call.

Jensen joins in, laughing until the angry, hungry growl of my belly drowns the laughter. “I think," he grins broadly, "someone’s pretty hungry here. So, time to get you fed, huh? This time, it’s on me. And don’t protest," Jensen adds when I take a breath to argue. "It’s my turn."

Sighing, I a ccept his invitation with a smile. It’s no good to discuss it with Jensen anyhow, he’s too stubborn to change his mind.

"So, what are you getting?" Jensen asks after skimming through the menu.

I don’t need to look at the menu. I haven’t been here for ages, the bar just reminds me too much of what we used to have, but the food was delicious, and whenever we’ve been here, I’ve always ordered the same. I don’t intend to change my habit now. “The usual.”

Jensen nods because how could he forget, and when our plates arrive twenty minutes later, there it is, the most delicious burger in the world.

We enjoy our burgers, talking about random things and it is comfortable and easy, the banter and friendship between us like it hasn’t been for a while.

Only once I take the last mouthful of my beer and want to ask Jensen if he wants another one, too, do I notice that he actually drinks soda instead.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you, man? No beer?! You didn’t start living like a teetotaler, did you?” It’s teasing, but I try for a shocked face before I grin broadly.

Jensen though doesn’t smile back but looks away, almost ashamed. Biting his lower lip and rubbing his left hand over his head are very familiar signs that he is nervous, turning the playful atmosphere suddenly serious.

He swallows hard, not daring to look at me. "I’m not allowed anymore." He takes a deep breath and his voice shifts into a mere whisper, barely audible in the crowded bar. "I’m sick, Jay. My kidneys were damaged when, you know, when I took all these drugs and alcohol, it’s not good for me."

I feel a cold hand grasp my heart and rip it out when I hear his words, when they finally sink in, suddenly understanding why Jensen is so pale, why he lost weight, why he just... well, looks sick. Because he is.

A wave of nausea washes over me when I think about what this might mean in the worst case. “Oh God, Jen!" I’m scared for him, and it’s obvious in my shocked face, my teary, emotional tone. "I didn’t have a clue. I’m sorry.” I shake my head in disbelief. “I really don’t know what to say. God, Jen. How bad is it?”

He looks at me sadly, like he knows how much the news stir me, how shocked, shattered I am. Even after two years of silence between us, no one knows me better than Jensen.

“It’s fine. Really. I have to take meds. And I’m on dialysis. But I won’t drop dead any second. If I take good care of myself, I will only rush to hell in twenty or thirty years. And it’s my own fault. I got what I deserved.” His words are harsh but I can still hear the slight tremble and fear in them.

God, dialysis. It sounds really severe and my hands are slightly trembling by the fear that overpowers me. “Don’t talk like this.” I finally scold him. His words are making me feel uneasy. Looking at him openly, not hiding my feelings, I search his face, now seeing what I already heard; there is a shadow in his eyes – fear and sorrow.

“Hey, you have to grant me a bit of gallows humor, Jay. Makes it easier to handle. But like I said, it’s okay. Really. I’m good.” Softly touching my hand, Jensen holds and squeezes it, wordlessly reassuring me that he is okay.

Grateful for the soothing warmth and connection, I don’t let go at once and let our fingers twine. It’s intimate, familiar and simply good, feeling Jensen’s fingertips brushing over my skin, and I squeeze back, smiling as happily as I can in a situation like that, before I let go.

“Let’s talk about something else, okay, Jay?” he asks, looking at me pleadingly.

I give way because it’s clear that he doesn’t want to share it with me and I just have to accept that. Jensen has always been like that, caring but not sharing, trying to carry all the weight alone. Not even his drug addiction made him change that.

Nodding, I leave for the bar, just to return with a coke a few minutes later, the break from Jensen welcome to regain my countenance, to bury my deeply troubled emotions deep within.

“If you aren’t allowed, then I don’t want to drink either," I explain when I notice his questioningly and surprised look.

It makes him laugh, but the grateful way he looks at me proves he appreciates this tiny gesture. 

We clink glasses with a happy “cheers” and he looks into my eyes with so much love that it tightens my chest. I’m lost in his familiar, beautiful green, and a part of me wishes to never let go, wishes just to be captivated in those expressive eyes forever.

Eventually, Jensen winks and the spell is broken.

In the next couple of minutes our chat is a little slow. I’m still scared, not able to chase the bad thoughts away. On top of it, I’m utterly confused to even feel these emotions, to realize that Jensen still means so much to me.

Jensen though distracts me from my confusing and dark thoughts by telling me about his New Year’s Eve with Chris and Steve and suddenly the atmosphere is back to normal, funny and lighthearted and I spend the most enjoyable evening in weeks.

When we say goodbye way after midnight, my hand finds Jensen’s, holds and squeezes it while I pull him into a strong, one-armed hug.

“Take care, Jen," I whisper, lips slightly moving over the shell of his ear. "Promise to call. Whenever you want, okay?”

Instead of answering, he holds on tight like he never wants to let go again, burying his head in my shoulder while his hand is clutching mine, crushing it more than just holding it. His chest is jerkily rising and falling and I can feel him crying silently.

I am strangely touched and maybe a bit embarrassed, but then I hold him close, rubbing my free hand over his back in soothing circles, whispering gentle words of comfort into his ear, feeling my own heart getting heavier with every sob.

Jensen holds me even tighter and when he eventually lets go, he wipes his tears away, looking a bit embarrassed. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m such a girl.”

“Nah, that’s fine. Nothing to be sorry about. Don’t be ashamed of your feelings, Jen." I smile at him, now close to tears myself. "It isn’t easy for me either.”

With a grateful smile on his lips, Jensen nods, moving towards Chris’ car.

“Jen, are you okay?" I ask worriedly, feeling just not too comfortable with the thought of Jensen driving around in the emotional uproar he is in. "Are you in a state to drive?”

“Sure I am," he assures, brushing the question away with a wave of his hand. "Thanks Jay. For giving our friendship a second chance.”

I smile when I realize it’s exactly what happened, although I didn’t plan on it. When I decided to meet Jensen, I wanted to close that chapter, didn’t want to write a new one. But life doesn’t always take the course you plan and the emotions deep inside me tell me it’s what I need. A future with Jensen back by my side can’t be a bad one.

“Bye, Jen."

“Bye, Jared.”

Glued to the spot, in a heavy emotional uproar myself, I only move once Jensen’s car vanishes around the corner, feeling empty and strangely lonely, and just hoping that Jensen and I can build on that fresh foundation of friendship.

**March 2016**

It ’ s early morning, and while Mark i s still snoring in our bed, I got up over an hour ago, went running with the dogs, had a shower and had breakfast. With my cell in my hand, I ’m now sitting on the little sofa in my office, short dialing Jensen ’ s number. It ’ s his birthday and I want to catch him before he ’s off celebrating with his buddies.

I t’ s ringing a few times until finally someone answers, but it ’ s not Jensen ’ s familiar Texan drawl that greets me but a questioning, very female and British “Hello?”. 

I ’m confused and surprised, not sure if I should hang up because I may have dialed the wrong number - which can ’t really be -  but then I just ask if I can talk to Jensen. 

The female nameless voice mumbles something that is almost drowned with loud laughter in the background and a few seconds later I finally get the birthday boy on the phone.

“Hello?”

“Jen! Hey man, it’s me. You know, if I could sing, but well... better not." I grin, wishing he could see it and I could see him. "Happy Birthday!”

“Hi. Hey. Jay. Wow. Can’t believe you remembered it. Thank you." It’s simple but warm and genuine, making me strangely happy.

"Sure I remembered. Doofus. How could I forget your birthday?" I ask before curiosity wins and I just need to ask him, teasingly, “Jen, want to tell me something? Who was the girl who answered your phone? Your new sweetheart?"

He laughs out loud. “Laurie. My friend Laurie." He emphasizes the word friend. "My sexual preferences haven ’ t changed a bit and," he drawls, "I ’ m still on the market.”

"Well, that ’s good to know," I admit, without really knowing why, and before it leads to an awkward pause, I add, "What are you up to, birthday boy? Huge party?"

“Not really," he huffs. "Just went to Salisbury with my buddies. Spent the whole day there. Even went to see Stonehenge, Jay. Full of tourists, and honestly, a little boring," he banters. "Now we’re celebrating a bit, sitting in a cozy little pub at the market square."

“Sounds awesome. Wish I were there." I mean it. I wish I could be with Jensen, giving him a bone-crunching birthday hug and not just a boring birthday wish via the phone, and I envy Laurie and the others guys who are spending Jensen’s birthday with him.

Suddenly, memories flash through my mind of all the birthdays we spent together: Jensen and I kissing, cuddling, and fucking – a lazy day of togetherness; having a big party and celebrating with all our buddies the next year.

One hilariously funny memory is especially present; I stumbled over the carpet, the huge cake in my hands, and my face was buried right in the middle of it. Our hysteric laughter just didn ’t stop, and Jensen softly licked the cream from my face before he tugged me upstairs and into the bathroom, getting more dirty than clean under the hot shower. They were good times...

“Wish you were here, too," Jensen admits, and the sound of his voice makes me shiver pleasantly. "What are you up to, man? Everything alright?”

I laugh. “Dude, it ’ s 7 am, so I haven ’ t been doing that much yet. Ran with the dogs and had some breakfast. I think I ’ll just enjoy my only free day this week.”

Talking my head off, I babble about the shooting and all the other news before I actually remember that today is about Jensen, not me. So, feeling slightly guilty, I finally I ask him what he has been up to.

Laughing, he tells me about his day and what has happened since our last call three weeks ago. His voice gets excited when he tells me that he will act in another drama again this summer and, I ’m sure, he has been dying to tell me ever since he got the job.

“Wow, Jen!" I shout excitedly. "That’s great news. I’d love to see you on stage.”

“Really?" He sounds surprised but pleased. "You have to come and see me, then. Will you?” he asks excitedly.

My heart is beating faster – boom boom boom, like a drum – when I hear the excitement in his voice. "Sure," I promise. "Can ’t wait to see you."

We chat for over half an hour, talking about everything and nothing, making silly jokes, laughing, and I almost feel like I am with Jensen, in that pub in Salisbury, not thousands of miles away. Eventually though, it ’ s time for Jensen to hang up, his buddies demanding Jensen ’s full attention again.

“I miss you, Jay." He sounds serious, almost sad, the little sigh pregnant with meaning. "I really hope you can come.”

Warmth spreads through my veins and without even thinking about it, because it ’ s nothing but the truth, I reply, “I miss you too, Jen. I promise, I ’ ll come and see you. I ’ll make it happen, no matter what, okay? Take care.”

"Yeah, you too. Thanks for calling, Jay."

Once I hang up I hear a deep dry cough.

Turning my head I face Mark, who leans against the door frame, eyes sparkling furiously. I just want to ask him how long he has been eavesdropping, but before I can even open my mouth he is by my side, grabbing me roughly on my upper arm and pulling me off the sofa.

“How dare you?!” I spit out through barely parted lips.

“How dare I? You scumbag! How dare you??!!" he yells, boiling with rage, tightening his hold around my arm even more. "Flirting with him! Admit it. You still have feelings for that asshole!”

“No, Mark, it’s not like that, you’ve got it all wrong.” Although I feel like yelling, I don’t and try to calm Mark down. My trembling voice betrays me though, bearing witness of how unconvinced I am myself: I still have feelings for Jensen, just don’t know what they are, it’s all too confusing.

“Wrong? No, no, no, I understand everything just fine,” he squeezes out. “I stood here for almost fifteen minutes. You were so lost in your damn chat that you didn’t even notice me opening the door, didn’t even notice me standing here. For fifteen fucking minutes," he spits out, gesturing outrageously. "I heard you laugh, heard you talk and saw your expression. So don’t lie to me, you cheating lying bastard! And believe me, Jared; I’ll knock this crush out of your head! You’re with me now, with me!!! Mine!!! Not fucking Jensen’s!"

Finally letting go of my arm, he turns on his heels, storming out of the room and two seconds later I hear the front door slam shut.

I take a deep breath to calm down, massaging the spot where Mark grabbed my arm, certain that it will be bruised tomorrow. I’m angry, horrified and kind of worried; I have never seen Mark so jealous, so possessive before. It makes me feel extremely uneasy and I wonder what it says about my relationship with him, not only my fear, but also him, treating me like that just because I talked to a friend.

Okay, maybe I flirted with Jensen but it was nothing. He’s still dear to me, but he is in London, living his own life now, while I am here, living mine. Just because Jensen has a place in my life again doesn’t mean that I will run off to get married to him tomorrow.

***

The atmosphere at home only gets back to normal about a week after our argument.

We avoid the subject. I neither have the time - shooting is getting more demanding - to talk about it, nor can I expect any kind of understanding from Mark. He’s consumed by his jealousy.

For the first time, I seriously doubt our relationship and Mark trusting me, because there isn’t a reason for Mark to be jealous, is there?

**May 2016**

Days turn into weeks and Jensen hasn’t been mentioned again, but stands between me and my boyfriend like an invisible wall. I only call Jensen when I’m alone, preferably when I take a walk with my dogs. Often, I sit on a bench in the park, the warm South Californian sun on my face, talking to Jensen while my dogs are romping over the lawn.

I haven’t mentioned anything to Mark about my intended visit to London, even though Jensen and I already agreed that I ’ ll come over in July. I don’t know how to break the news, and I am actually even thinking about telling Mark some lie, maybe that I’m on vacation with Chad or visiting Megan, but as soon as the thought hits me I know it isn’t a wise idea. The risk of him finding out and being even more pissed is just too big. I’m shocked that I am even thinking about methods like that and I shake my head, wondering how it did come to that, when Mark and I had such an honest relationship once.

One evening in early May, while we’re sitting on the couch, watching a DVD, I finally bring it up.

“Mark?”

“Mmm, what’s up?” he grumbles.

“Jensen invited me to visit him. He’s playing in a drama and I’d love to see it.” I’m clever enough to say that I want to see the play, not Jensen, but unfortunately Mark isn’t dumb enough to fall for it. “I know you don’t like it, but you really have no reasons to be jealous. We’re just friends. You can accompany me, if you want. We could go on vacation in Europe. It’s in July.”

“In July?" he asks even though he heard me quite well. "You know very well that I work on the new Bruckheimer film in July, so I can’t come, even if I wanted to. And you know what?" he spits, "You won’t go either! I forbid it!"

I don’t believe my ears. Is Mark going completely nuts now?! “What the fuck, man?! You can’t forbid me anything! I’m not your fucking property! I can do as I want and this includes going to London and watching a drama.” I jump up from the sofa, gesturing widely.

“Are you taking me for a fool, Jared?" He jumps up too, threatening me with his fist but I am still bigger than him, still towering over Mark, and even though my heart is beating faster and adrenaline is rushing through my body, I don’t retreat. "I know this isn’t about that damn play; it’s about meeting your fucking ex-boyfriend!”

“And if that is the case, Mark?" I yell in return, being so fed up with Mark’s jealousy. "He was my best friend before he became my lover. What’s wrong with meeting an old buddy?”

Mark laughs, but there is no humor in it. “There are a million reasons not to visit him! Do you want me to list them all for you? The way he treated you! The way he contacted you, playing with your heart, his problems, his apologies, and most of all," he stabs his finger into my chest, "the way you laugh, the way your voice sounds when you talk to that fucking bastard!”

I shake my head. This is so ridiculous. “Mark, I promised. I’d like to go. And I will go.”

“Forget it!!" Mark yells so loud that I’m sure the neighbors can hear it. "If you’re boarding that fucking plane to London, we’re finished!” he threatens me, his face reddened in anger.

“What? You expect me to choose between Jensen and you?” I don’t believe it. How can he ask for this?

“Right you are. Think about it, Jared.”

Then he vanishes and I can hear his heavy feet trampling down to the basement where he holes up in the billiard room, leaving me confused and in an emotional uproar. I never expected this reaction even though we had quarrels and problems in the past months.

How can he expect me to decide? Between him, the person I love now, and the man who was the love of my life not so long ago? How can he hold me ransom with it? For the whole evening there are just these two questions stirring up my mind: Jensen or Mark? Mark or Jensen?

***

My cell rings the next morning, showing Jensen’s number. I’m a little surprised because usually I call him on Friday mornings. When I answer the phone with a questioning but nevertheless pleased, “Jen?” I’m not greeted by his familiar “Hey dude” but by a woman’s panicked voice.

“Jared?”

What the fuck is going on here? “Yeah? Who ’ s speaking?” I ask, a strange feeling growing in my belly.

“It’s Laurie, Jensen’s friend. Jared…God... It’s Jensen. He broke down during rehearsal." She sobs, breathing hard, panicked. "He’s sick, Jared..." Her voice trembles. "The doctor says he’s dying.”

My world comes crashing down, hard and fast.

An ice-cold hand grabs my heart and rips it out, taking my breath away and, I’m sure, my heard skips a beat. Tumbling with shock, shaking like a leaf, I have to sit down in the nearest chair trying to process what can’t be processed.

My friend is dying.

Jensen is dying.

Oh my God...

I hear Laurie weeping on the other end of the line and I feel my own eyes filling up with tears, too overwhelmed with my feelings.

“Laurie. What happened?” I can’t believe how weak I sound, full of pain and fear.

“It’s his kidneys. No one knew it was so bad. I only understood half of the things the doctor explained but Jared. It looks bad, really bad. If Jen doesn’t get a transplant within the next forty-eight hours the doctors can’t do anything for him.”

I swallow hard, unable to say anything, but tumble and fall into some shadowy abyss, into the darkness without Jensen in my life, even darker than before because he will be gone for good.

“Jared, they let me see him. I know so much shit happened between you, but he told me that you made up. Ever since New Year, he is constantly talking about you, how happy he is that you’re friends again. Gosh, he is looking forward to seeing you in July, so much that he is all giddy and excited." She’s babbling, almost stumbling over her own words, being as confused and scared as Jared. "He asked me to call you. He wants to see you one last time. Can you come?”

I don’t even have to think about it. “Of course. I’ll catch the next flight to London, and call you again from the airport. Tell Jen… tell him to hold on. Okay?"

Not even hearing Laurie’s answer, I hang up, staying where I am for a moment, not sure if I am strong enough to stand up already, if my weak legs will carry me. I’m still shaking and my cheeks are wet with tears I didn’t even notice falling.

Taking a deep breath, I call a cab, before I finally get up and hurry into the bedroom, dragging a duffel bag out of my closet and throwing a random collection of clothes, underwear and toiletries in. It doesn’t take more than five minutes. Grabbing passport, wallet, cell and keys, I leave the house without looking back, impatiently waiting for the cab.

It seems like an eternity until it finally appears and seems just as long until it arrives at the airport. I call Chad during the ride and ask him to take care of Harley and Sadie. Mark has never really liked them and I don’t trust him to fend for of my babies.

Mark…without thinking about it much longer I have made my decision. For Jensen.

***

I’m lucky. Not even an hour after I arrive at the airport a United Airline flight leaves for London. While I’m waiting for take-off, I write a text to Mark. I know, I should call him, discuss everything with him in person, but I’m not strong enough for a fight with him now.

Instead, I call my agent. He isn’t happy that I’m canceling all my appointments for the following week, including my appearance at  _Letterman,_ but I don’t care. Why should I care for my career when my best friend is dying?

The flight is uneventful but it feels like it lasts twice the time than it actually does. The hours are dragging by and I become more anxious with every passing minute, have to hold myself together not to burst into tears.

What if Jensen can’t hold on? What if I can’t see him one last time and tell him how much he still means to me?

Eventually, I force myself to think positive. Jensen is strong and stubborn... he’ll wait. And maybe it isn’t as bad as Laurie said, maybe he has more time, maybe they can find a matching donor?

***

Once I finally land at London Heathrow, I storm out of the terminal and catch the first cab I can see. The ride to St. Thomas Hospital, which is situated in the middle of the City, right by the River Thames, seems like a lifetime for me. The taxi driver notices my impatience and ensures me that we’re making good progress; obviously I’m lucky because it’s still early morning and there isn’t much rush-hour traffic yet.

Having finally entered the hospital, I hurry upstairs, feverishly looking for the ward Laurie gave me. She’s waiting for me, nervously pacing up and down the waiting room. I recognize her at once: petite, straight, light brown hair, awry nose but a charming smile. Jensen sent photos of the two of them together.

Once she sees me she breaks out in tears and, for a second, I think I’m too late.

"Is he... Am I..." I can’t even put it in words, can’t think about Jensen passing and leaving me for good.

“No." She sniffs. "But he’s in a bad way. The doctor thinks it won’t take that long anymore.”

“Dear Lord…” There’s nothing else to say and, burying my head in my hand, I take a deep breath, desperately trying to not show my emotions too openly – not because I am ashamed of them, but because I fear that if I start crying now, I won’t be able to stop ever again.

“Did you inform Jensen’s family?” I ask after a while, sure that Donna, Alan and his siblings would like to say goodbye and be with Jensen in his last hours.

Laurie shakes her head. “He didn’t want me to." She sobs. "He just asked for you, Jared. You’re the only one who really matters. No one else.”

I don’t know what to say. What can I say as I realize that Jensen still loves me so much? That I’m still "the one", like from the beginning, and that I still love him, too, even if I didn’t see it for so long. “Can I see him? Outside visiting hours?”

She just nods, leading the way down the white hospital aisle. Only after a few yards she stops in front of a wooden door, silently pointing at it. My legs, already week, turn into jello once more and I feel unbelievably sick. A part of me wants to run as far away as I can, and to close my eyes and forget everything, hoping that it goes away, that Jensen will be miraculously saved if I just don’t go and see him. But of course that’s foolish. My friend needs me and I need to be with him at the end of his life.

“Want to come?”

“No. He wants to see you, not me.” She doesn’t seem to mind, waving once before she turns around and heads back to the waiting room.

Taking a deep breath, I knock and enter.

Jensen is the only patient in the green painted room... Green... Hope... Who knows what it might be good for. The air is filled with the noise of the several machines he is connected to, the dialysis machine that has taken over his destroyed kidney’s function the biggest and loudest.

Jensen is awake, and very pale with red-rimmed, dark circled eyes. “Jare…” It’s too quiet, too weak, “You came." He releases a breath he seemed to be holding, obviously relieved that I really came. "Thanks.” He can force half a smile.

I sit down on the visitor chair beside his bed. “Of course I came. As soon as Laurie called. Jen... I don’t know what to say. What to do." I exhale desperately. "Why… Why didn’t you tell me that you were this sick?”

“I didn’t want you to be in touch again because you felt sorry for me. I wanted you to be in touch because of me, or yourself, not because I’m sick. Even though the diagnosis was one of the reasons I wrote," Jensen admits, looking away, "I wanted to set the record straight before it was too late. Never thought it’d happen so soon though. I thought I still had one, maybe even two years." He swallows hard. "Sorry that I wasn’t honest with you. Once again.”

“Don’t be. That’s not important." It really isn’t. We all have to make choices and decisions, according to what we think is best for us. "You did what you wanted to do and I’m so grateful that you got in touch with me again. It means so much for me." I try for a smile, but it’s hard to overpower the sadness that threatens to choke me. "Is there anything I can do? Call someone?”

Jensen shakes his head. “You’re here and that’s everything I wished for, Jay. Now I can die a happy man.”

“Don’t talk like this, Jen." I bite my lip to prevent myself from screaming out how unfair life is and that I will lose my friend now that I have just found him again. "We’ll find a solution.”

Jensen shakes his head. “No, Jay, it’s too late. If there isn’t a miracle, I’ll be knocking on heaven’s door soon. Or on devil’s gate. And you know, I don’t believe in miracles anymore.” He smiles sadly.

“But you should, Jen. Our friendship was a miracle, you said it yourself. And that you wrote that letter was one, too. I never expected you to... In a way, Jen, it was really courageous.”

“That you’re here with me now, Jay, is one as well,” Jensen adds gratefully.

I smile and ponder whether Jensen is right. Would I have come if Jensen hadn’t written that letter, if we hadn’t been on speaking terms again? Would I have hurried to be at my dying ex-boyfriend’s side in his last hours?

Yeah… I think I would have done it anyway, because I could never have forgiven myself if I had abandoned Jensen now, in his most difficult and scariest of times.

This knowledge, this realization of love, gives me peace and a little strength.

I’m not going to tell him that me being here isn’t such a big miracle, though. If Jensen believes it is, maybe it will help him to believe in more miracles to happen.

“Jen, you should try to rest a bit,” I suggest instead.

“Mmm," he sighs. "I’m scared, Jay. I’m scared that I won’t wake up again. I’m scared of what’s waiting for me.” The fear in Jensen’s dull eyes takes my breath away and I would do anything to make it easier for him.

“I know, Jen. But I’m right here with you. I’ll look after you. And I think there’s no need to be afraid. Can you still remember shooting “ _Dark Side of the Moon_ ”? Every person had their own heaven there. We both thought it was a nice, reassuring thought. We even talked about it during filming, don’t you remember? And I’m sure the place we go to when we pass is really like this. I’m sure, Jen, when you’re gone, if you really have to leave, then you’ll be in a place where you are happy. So there’s nothing you have to fear.”

“But will we meet again, Jay?”

“Of course. We’re soul mates, Jen. We’ll meet again. I promise.” One single tear is running down my cheek. I don’t even bother to wipe it away because I can’t hide my feelings, my fear and my sorrow any longer and I don’t want to anymore.

“Can I hold your hand, Jen?” I ask, because I really need this connection now, Jensen’s proof of life for the last hours, letting him know that I am really there and don’t intend to let go.

“Would be nice”. He smiles.

I touch his hand. It feels more slender, smaller than in the past, and it’s ice-cold. I gently rub my palm over its back and then our fingers entwine and Jensen’s features seem a bit more relaxed than before. While I gently stroke my thumb over Jensen’s hand, he closes his eyes until, eventually, fatigue takes its toll, Jensen’s breathing gets calmer and he falls asleep.

***

Reluctantly, I leave Jensen’s bedside because I just have to talk to the doctor in charge. The nephrologist, who isn’t on duty yet and introduces himself as Dr Carragher after I’ve been waiting for him for half an hour, is in his fifties and has a kind face. He conveys tranquility, and patiently explains the functions of the kidney, the disease pattern, why Jensen’s kidneys stopped working and why time is running out.

I swallow hard, feeling very sick. “And there’s nothing we can do? No medicine?” I know I’m holding on to a straw that doesn’t exist but I just have to ask.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Padalecki. If you can’t conjure up a kidney out of thin air then we can only ease his pain and let nature take its course.”

Only thinking about it for a moment, I ask, feeling insecure. “Could I… could I give him my kidney? I have two and only need one, don’t I?” I know it’s crazy to suggest it, without thinking it through, but I don’t really hesitate, not when my best friend ’s life is at stake here.

“Yes, but first of all you need to have a blood type that is compatible with Mr Ackles’ and the cross-matching has to be negative. And even if you are a matching donor, it’s a decision you shouldn’t make lightly, Mr. Padalecki. Removing an organ is a severe surgery; even though it’s standard procedure, there are risks for the donor and rehabilitation takes weeks. You couldn’t work for a very long time, sir."

"I don’t care. It’s just films I do and we’re talking about a life here – my best friend’s life. There’s simply nothing I wouldn’t do for Jensen”. Finally, the scales fall from my eyes, and the realization that I would really do everything for Jensen hits me. I don’t want to be without him anymore. I chose him. I chose to let Jensen into my life once more as my best friend and into my heart again as the love of my life he always was.

“Alright." Dr. Carragher agrees, obviously being satisfied with my reasons. "A nurse will take your blood and then we’ll see.”

***

Half an hour later, Dr. Carragher asks me back into his office. I’m waiting nervously because whatever the test results will be, it will affect my future and Jensen’s even more. For him it means life or death, for me if I will either lose him or if we will be given this second chance that I really want.

“Well, Mr. Padalecki." The doctor points towards the visitor chair while thumbing through some papers. His face is neutral, unreadable, whether he brings good or bad news for them. "You have the rare blood type 0-, and are, henceforce, a so-called universal donor. The cross-matching was negative too. You could donate your kidney to Mr. Ackles.”

It takes a while until the doctor’s words sink in, but it feels like a huge weight is being lifted off my shoulders, and releasing a breath I didn’t even know I was holding before, I answer, “Okay, that’s great news. I’ll do it, then.”

“Not that fast." The doctor can’t repress a little smile. "A live organ donor is subjected to laws. I’d like you to think about it before you make your decision. You have to talk to Mr. Ackles, too. And I have to explain the whole procedure and risks in the presence of another doctor. Besides, you should remember that Mr. Ackles won’t be able to live the normal life he used to have. He’ll have to take immunosuppressants for the rest of his life, drugs that will suppress his immune system to prevent it from rejecting the organ. It will make him prone to illnesses. And last but but not least, you have to know that a kidney transplantation is a life-extending procedure. The average lifetime for a donated kidney is ten to fifteen years and after this your friend will be again where he’s now.”

I really haven ’ t thought about any of the things the doctor just told me. Ten years isn ’ t much. But on the other hand, ten years can be half an eternity if you spend  them with the person you love. Sometimes even a day can be like a whole lifetime. I want this, this second chance for us, as friends, maybe even as lovers again. Now that I have Jensen in my life, I feel more complete than I ’ ve felt in a long time – balanced and happy. If I can feel like that for the next ten years and can give it back to Jensen, make him feel like that, too, then a decade with him is worth much more than fifty years with Mark or any other man.

“Do we still have enough time?”

The doctor nods.

“Okay." I sigh in relief. "I’ll talk to him.”

***

Jensen is still sleeping when I enter his room. I hate to wake him up when he needs to rest so desperately, but this is more important.

Taking his still too cold hand in mine, I move my free hand up and down his arm to wake him up gently.  “Jen? Wake up, man. I’ve got news."

It takes a while until he fully regains consciousness and only a barely audible, questioningly, “Mmm?” escapes his chapped, bloodless lips.

“Jen, listen to me, okay?" I smile down at him, conveying my hope with each of my words. "I talked to the doctor. There’s one possibility.” Hope is now shining in his eyes. “I had myself checked, Jen. I could be the donor.”

Silence spreads between us and slowly I see the hope in my friend’s eyes extinguish and him shutting down, eyes closed, face a grimace of pain and sorrow. Almost impalpably, Jensen shakes his head. “No, Jay. You can’t do this." He sniffs. "That’s too much. I can’t let you, can’t accept it.”

It breaks my heart but I’m not ready to give up so soon. Not when the price is Jensen’s life. “Please, Jen," I beg, feeling the desperation crawl back again. "Let me do this for you. I want to do this. If I don’t, Jen, you’re going to die," I say with a sob, "and I just... I can’t let you. I want you to live, Jen.”

“Survive, Jared." Jensen says straight. "I don’t know if it will be a life worth living. I know what awaits me after the transplant.” He sounds scared, maybe scared enough to actually prefer dying than facing the long road of recovery, the constant fear of getting sick, the weakness, his body fighting against itself.

“We’ll get through that," I promise, squeezing Jensen’s hand tighter.

“We?” He laughs dryly, without any amusement in it. “There’s no we, Jared. There’s you and Mark. Together and happy. In LA. And there’s me. Alone. Here in London." He sounds uncommonly bitter.

I always knew he wished me well, knew that he wanted me to be happy but, now with his emotions ripped open, it’s obvious that Jensen is jealous and, no matter how many new friends he found in London, alone and most of all, lonely.

Now it’s my turn to shake my head. “It’s over." It’s the first time I say it aloud and I don’t feel anything but relief, knowing that it was the right decision, no matter what happens next. "Once I told Mark that I was going to see your drama he forced me to choose between you and  him. Said that I can ’t have him if I want us to be friends again, Jen.  The fact that he held me ransom wasn ’ t fair. I mean," I shake my head, "who does this? Who forces their boyfriend to cut ties with a friend? Then Laurie called only a couple of hours after the fight… I didn ’ t even have to think about it for one second, Jen." Now I smile, putting all my love, affection and friendship into that smile, and into the touch that still connects us. "It ’ s only you who counts, only you who are important to me, and I ’ m so sorry that it has taken me such a  long time to realize.” Biting my lip, I shake my head again. "I’ve been such a stupid, blind fool."

Time passes, though I can’t say if it’s seconds or minutes. I don ’t push  Jensen, just let my thumb ghost over my friend’s hand tenderly, watching the play of his features, all those emotions that must overwhelm him, until eventually a weak smile twitches over his lips.

“Jay, I don’t know what to say," he breaths out reverently. "A kidney, that’s huge. It’s a part of you and you’d have to live without it for the rest of your life. Are you sure you want to do this? And surgery, Jared, it’s risky for you as well. What if something happens?" He swallows hard, the mere thought choking him. "I’d never forgive myself. And what about your job, your projects for the next months?”

A shiver of fear runs down my spine once Jensen’s words of concern sink in. Ever since my consultation with Dr. Carragher, I haven’t allowed myself to question my decision. I’m doing what my heart tells me, not what might be reasonable. I simply don’t want to be reasonable, I just want to do what has to be done to save the man I love.

Thinking about it more closely is something I can’t afford because then fear would choke me and maybe then I’d falter, and there’s no time for fear and doubts. Instead, I trust the doctors but, most of all, I trust God, Fate or whoever else knotted us together, just to sever us in a twist of fate, yet weaving the threads of our lives back together once Jensen sent his letter and I decided to read it.

“I’ll gladly take this risk. It’s worth it, Jen. You’re worth it. Losing a job. Some risk. Even dying.” Desperation now rising to an almost unbearable level, I take a deep breath, squeezing Jensen’s hand tighter. “Please, Jensen, time’s ticking away. Let me do this. For you. For us. For what we used to be and what we might be again one day.”

It’s funny how we sometimes only know what and who we love when we’re close to losing it. Funny, but sad. But that’s the way we humans are and I’m no exception. Ever since Jensen and I have been back in touch I haven’t really thought about the possibility of being more than friends with him again. It was all about coming to terms with our past and look into our future together as friends. But ever since Laurie’s call, ever since I chose Jensen over Mark, the thought of being more than friends with him again doesn’t seem absurd any longer, but realistic and welcoming, giving me a warm, fuzzy feeling I have missed for so long.

“I don’t know.” Jensen sounds unsure, seems reluctant to accept me risking and giving so much for him.

Suddenly, a scary thought takes hold of me. “Jen?" I ask, and Jensen’s name alone sounds weak, broken and scared. It’s unthinkable, but maybe Jensen has lost his will to live, his will to fight because, maybe he doesn’t think there are things worth fighting for. "Do you... You don’t want to die, do you?

Jensen takes in a sharp breath, shocked that I think something like that. “No, of course not. But Jay, did the doc tell you that the kidney won’t last forever? I’m just borrowing time and I just can’t use you as a spare parts store. Not for something I have to blame myself for.” He avoids my eyes and turns his head to the side, burying it into the pillow as good as possible.

It already takes him a huge effort. He’s getting weaker each minute; Death is slowly but surely reaching out for him.

“Jen,” I say, sure that what I say now might be one of the most important things I’ve ever said. ”I’d rather spend these ten years with you instead of a lifetime with someone else. We can have such a wonderful life, Jen. Like the one we used to have. Just because you made one mistake doesn’t mean that you should have to pay with your life for it. That’s not fair." I sniff, thinking of the man Jensen used to be before the drugs changed him so much, and the man he is now, having learned so much, having become an even better man. "You have suffered enough. It’s time that a bit of happiness comes back into your life. Please, Jen," I beg, not able to hold back the tears any longer, "let me give it to you."

Slowly but surely I can see his features relax, and I can watch Jensen finally giving in.

“Are you really sure, Jay?” he asks, one last time, even though I made myself so clear.

“Yeah, I am, Jen. Absolutely. I want to do this.”

It ’ s quiet for a while before he sighs. "Okay, then let ’s do it."

His hand squeezes mine and this small, unimpressive gesture says more than a “thank you” ever could.

***

The next three hours pass in a flood of examinations and counseling interviews. Once I get the final thumbs up for the donor, I call my mom. She ’ s shocked and scared but doesn ’ t question my decision, and doesn ’t try to change my mind . I only halfheartedly try to talk her out of taking the next flight to London, actually unbelievable grateful that she will be there for me, for Jensen, solid as a rock we be both can rely on.

My agent is almost getting a heart-attack when I tell him what I ’m going to do and that I will miss at least eight weeks, probably even more. He assails me with a flood of words, and meaningless explanations about what might happen if I can ’ t keep the contract for my next project. I don ’ t really listen to him, I simply don ’t  care. If absolutely necessary, I could afford to pay the fine, I could even afford not working at all for the rest of my life.

My last two calls are directed to Chad - who promises to take good care of Harley and Sadie and to look after my house and who makes me promise “ _not to do anything stupid_ ” - and Mark. Yelling like a lunatic, he abuses me verbally, telling me I should go to hell. When I ask him to move out, he hangs up without another word. 

I t’s a shame that it ends like that because we had our good times, but it wasn ’t meant to be and I  really don ’t want to think about it more closely, because I can ’t burden my mind with Mark right now.

***

Once all things are prepared, I go and see Jensen again. He isn ’ t alone. 

Laurie sits on Jensen ’s bed, reading the newspaper to him. It ’ s simple but still surprisingly intimate, and the jealousy I once felt towards Laurie changes into gratitude. She is a good friend for Jensen, has been there for him since he came to London, and is here for him now, consoling him and calming him down. And if something goes wrong and I don ’t make it through surgery, Laurie will still be there for Jensen, and will make sure that Jensen fights.

“Hey, am I interrupting you?” I tentatively ask as I poke my head through the open door.

“No, not at all.” Laurie turns around, beaming at me broadly. She didn’t say how grateful she is for what I am doing for Jensen, but she doesn’t have to, anyways. The way the young woman looks at me says more than a thousand words ever could, telling me a lot of untold things about her relationship with Jensen and, most of all, her unfulfilled feelings towards him.

I approach the bed. “Just wanted to wish you good luck, Jen." I smile at him gently. "They will come get you in a couple of minutes.”

“Oh…well, I better go then," Laurie says, jumping off the bed before she kisses Jensen on the cheek, whispering a few words into his ears.

“Great girl.” I smile once I sit down where Laurie was sitting, the bed creaking under my additional weight.

“Yeah, she is." Jensen sighs. "I’m happy for having her. But you’re great, too."

Blushing, I ignore his compliment. “She has a crush on you." I giggle. "It ’s really sweet. In vain, but sweet."

“Yeah, I know." Jensen shrugs. "I think she hopes that I’ll miraculously turn straight overnight, you know, like the mice in Cinderella becoming horses or something." Jensen even manages a little chuckle. "She isn’t the only one though. There’s someone else who loves me, isn’t there?” It’s not even really a question; Jensen got the message right, knows that I will always love him, always be in love with him, and that probably, deep down, I’ve never really stopped loving him.

“No, she isn’t. Someone here loves you very much,” I confirm, smiling like the lovesick fool that I am.

There ’s no need to say anything, so the c omfortable silence, only disturbed by the noises of the medical machines, spreads between us while I absently play with Jensen ’s sheet and bite my lower lip.

“Jay? Are you alright?” Jensen asks quietly, sounding worried.

“No, not really." I shake my head, trying hard to hold my composure. "I’m nervous… fucking scared.” I dig my fingers into the mattress, needing something, anything, to hold on.

“Me too,” Jensen admits weakly. “Jay?”

“Mmm?” I look right into his eyes, seeing the love, the hope, the fear, but most of all, the trust in them and it takes my breath away.

“Promise me to be with me when I wake up.”

I ’ve never promised something rather than that.  “I ’ ll be there, Jen. I ’ ll always be there.”

I take his hand to confirm my words, my promise, with a little touch. When we used to be boyfriends, we often sat together for hours, silently holding hands, while watching TV or the starlit sky, the dogs romping around in the backyard. We just relished the fact of being close, just me, just Jensen, just us.

Thinking about this brings a smile to my face now, just doing what I used to do. I gently let my fingers run over Jensen ’s hand, drawing invisible circles onto his skin, playing with his fingers, fingertips against fingertips until they finally entwine and hold on to each other.

I silently sit with Jensen like that until the nurse opens the door and reminds me that it ’ s time for Jensen to be prepared for surgery. 

I get up and kiss his forehead, putting all my love into the simple gesture, saying goodbye with my promise. “We ’ ll see each other soon, Jen”.

Watching the nurse pushing the bed out of the room, my eyes follow my best friend. Emptiness takes a hold of me once Jensen and the staff vanish inside the elevator and I pray to God that I will see him again and that we both have our happily ever after, no matter if it’s as friends or lovers.

One hour later I ’ m prepared for surgery. And while the anesthesiologist injects me with the drugs and I slowly lose consciousness, my fear fades away and my last thought is that I did the right thing. 

For Jensen.

***

I recover from anesthesia with a slight pain in my upper body and a dry throat. It almost feels like awakening from a deep sleep, it ’ s just slower, and I struggle to break free from this warm, comfortable embrace of unconsciousness. Like from far away, the familiar beep of monitors, the scent of disinfectants, the nurse ’ s feet and quiet voices invade my waking, getting louder, more real until I finally open my eyes, see nothing but the room ’s white ceiling.

Gliding in and out of consciousness, a nurse finally approaches my bed, asking if I’m in pain.

I shrug because it ’s bearable, and only  ask her for some water because my throat feels dry like the desert.

Once I quench my thirst, my only concern is with Jensen. Unluckily, Nurse Sally isn ’ t authorized to tell me, but after pleading with her for a while she goes to fetch Dr. Carragher.

Waiting for him feels like a lifetime and the steady pain in my belly is now accompanied by the queasiness of being worried, but once he looks down to me and smiles, I know, for the time being, everything is okay. Confirming my hope, the doctor ensures me that both the removal as well as the transplantation went on without any complications and that the kidney has started working. Jensen ’ s surgery took longer than mine so he isn ’ t back to consciousness yet.

Remembering my promise to be with Jensen when he wakes up, I ask the doctor to move my bed next to Jensen ’ s. Surprisingly, he ’s giving in at once, and after I ’ve seen with my own eyes that Jensen ’ s alive, that his chest is rising and falling and that he isn ’ t connected to the dialysis machine any longer, exhaustion takes its toll and grants me a painless, dreamless sleep.

***

Warm rays of sun are shining through the big windows, waking me up and warming my face. Feeling rested, and much better than before, I open my eyes carefully. What I notice first is the new surroundings. I’m not waking in a sterile recovery room or a dark ICU, but in a friendly, bright room. Slowly moving my eyes from left to right, they come to rest on Mom ’ s sleeping features. With a book in her lap, she ’ s sitting on a visitor’s chair, breathing slowly, palpable tiredness and jet lag having taken its toll while she was watching over me.

I love my mom, and in a situation like this, where thousands of emotions overwhelm me, where I feel sick, tired and scared, I ’ m unbelievably grateful for having her by my side. Smiling slightly, I force myself to look away, turning my head to the left side, luckily finding Jensen sleeping in the bed next to mine. Relief and gratitude is washing over me as I watch him sleep, the slight move of his chest beneath the thin cover, an eyelid quivering occasionally, a twitch of his hand, once even a weak whimper. These are all signs of his precious life, the life that hopefully now has a chance for happiness and togetherness again.

Eventually, my mom is woken by the ward ’ s daily noises and once she notices that I ’ m conscious too, looking into my eyes that are so like her own, she gives me a very loving smile. Her hand on my cheek feels unbelievably safe and her calming voice melts away my fear. Letting go, all those tears I ’ ve been holding back since Laurie called are finally streaming down. Weeping, sobbing and sniffling for minutes, I cry in fear for my best friend, for the rough times lying ahead of us, but most of all for relief and gratitude, for Jensen cheating Death at the last minute.

Mom ’s hug is warm and comforting and, once I calm down enough, I let go, telling her what happened. Supporting my decision, she tells me I did the right thing and that she is very proud of me for giving so much for my friend. The moment I mention Mark ’s behavior, she outrageously bitches at him, calling him names I never expected my mom to know, least of all use. She finally admits that she never really liked him and always thought that something was “wrong” with him, which is amusing, amazing and shocking at the same time.

Comfortable silence spreads between us when all is said and I notice that my mom is so tired that she can barely keep her eyes open. Urging Mom to leave and look for a hotel I find out that Laurie took care of everything and is waiting outside to drive Mom there. She puts the book she was reading on my nightstand in case I get bored and leaves with a kiss on my forehead and the promise to visit again in the evening.

Too tired to think straight enough for a book, I try to relax and calm down, falling asleep for a couple of minutes only to wake up once a weak but audible “Jay?” calls me back from the world of dreaming.

I turn my head in Jensen ’ s direction and am greeted with a weak smile, illuminating Jensen ’s pale features.  It ’s so good to see his face, these eyes and that smile again, and a flood of happiness washes over me.  “Hey, Jen. How ’re you feeling, man?

"Glorious,” Jensen deadpans. "Tired. Drugged. Hurting." Jensen scrunches his face in pain when he tries to move a little. "But I ’m alive, Jay. Something I didn’t..." He releases a shaky breath, too overwhelmed to express what happened.

"It ’s okay, Jen. Just don’t think about it, not straight away, okay? Just concentrate on getting better. ”

"Yeah," he promises, falling asleep again before I can say something else.

Smiling, I know I made the right decision.

Jensen is worth it, lying here, hurting, and I perhaps losing my job. Just to hear his voice, to see his beloved face and his wonderful smile is worth everything.

***

A couple of days pass and, while my state is continually improving, Jensen is suffering from the follow-up of his surgery. The large and strong doses of medicine that prevent his immune system from rejecting the transplanted organ cause an absence of appetite and nausea, making him weak and tired.

After sitting outside in the mild sun with me, my mom and Laurie for only half an hour, Jensen catches a severe pneumonia that worries us greatly, slowing down his healing process even more.

Some days we fear once more for Jensen ’ s life, taking turns to watch over him, keeping him company while a high fever is burning him up and the dry, strong coughs cause him horrible pain on his slowly healing scar.

Seeing Jensen suffer like that, fighting for his life, losing strength with every passing day, I feel the most helpless I ’ve ever felt. All I can do is hold his hand, making promises I’m not even sure I can keep, just hoping and praying that it’s enough for Jensen to hold on.

***

While I ’m  discharged, Jensen ’s state is still worrying.

P ale, just skin and bones, haggard cheeks and deep shadows beneath his eyes, he ’s lying in bed, barely managing a smile. He is very quiet and contemplative, seems lethargic and weak. His state and his vulnerability shocks me whenever I see him, day in, day out, sitting by his bed, talking to him about news and memories.

No matter how hard I try to cheer him up though, my attempts to bring a bit of sun into his mind seem to be completely in vain and I ’m scared that Jensen is slipping through my fingers, and that I can’t catch him, now that he seems to have fallen into that deep, dark hole recovery caused.

***

Dropping by Jensen ’ s room after an exhausting physical therapy session, I find him crying, head buried into his pillow. Vulnerable, fragile and helpless, his desperate sobs, his hard breathing and the way his fingers are cramped into the pillow break my heart.

I sit down on his bed and take Jensen ’s hand, combing my other hand through his hair, gently massaging his scalp until my fingers find their place on his shoulders, loosening some of the tight muscles there. Whispering soothing words into Jensen ’s ear, I try to calm him down with my voice, my touch and my presence, proving that I ’m with him like I promised, that I never intend to let go.

Eventually, his tears run dry.

As he turns his head towards me, I look into puffy red eyes, tired and so desperate, telling more about Jensen ’ s state than words ever could.

“I’m so sorry, Jay." He sniffs, his face a mask of pain and shame. "I’m so grateful you gave me my life, sacrificed so much for me. But," he takes a deep breath, "I just can’t bear it anymore. Don’t have any strength left to fight. I feel so broken, so weak, so unbelievable tired. Sick all the time. I wish Jay. God, I wish you’d have let me die." Fresh tears stream down his face. "I’m so sorry, so fucking sorry.”

I can ’ t blame Jensen, and I can ’t be mad at him when he’s going through the toughest time of his life. Being in pain every day, his body weakened, fighting against himself, against the organ that keeps him alive, suffering from all those side effects of the aggressive drugs, Jensen is at the end of his strength.

But I know the man, and I know that, deep down, he is a fighter who will fight back eventually, and get stronger, better again. It won ’t happen overnight, but at the end of the tunnel Jensen is walking through is a bright light and with every passing day, with every day he fights, it gets a little bigger and brighter.

Quite carefully, without putting too much pressure on his torso that is still sensitive after the surgery, I enfold Jensen in my arms. Holding him close, I can feel my best friend clinging onto me. His heart is an almost imperceptible beat against my chest and his rash breathing in between his pitying sobs are a wonderful proof of life and I ’ m so grateful that I can feel Jensen like this, that he is still here and not gone where I can ’ t follow.

Gently moving my palm in soothing circles over his back, I tell him exactly that. Once more, I promise Jensen to be there for him, to never let go, that we ’ ll make it together. I ’ m not sure if Jensen believes any of my words, but I do, and I can be strong enough for the both of us as long as Jensen needs to be strong enough for himself again.

When I gave him my kidney, when we were connected in that deepest of all possible ways, I promised myself to never let Jensen go again.

**August 2016**

Jensen fights. He is brave and doesn ’ t let go, but picks himself up step by step, day by day until slowly but surely he is getting better.

Every day is a new fight. A fight against his own body, against fatigue and desperation. But after many days, after some setbacks which drew him close to the edge again, I can finally take him home.

Jensen ’ s apartment in Bayswater is small but cozy. It consists of two similar big rooms he uses as living-room and bedroom and the little chamber he equipped as a dark room. It ’ s his little heaven on earth and even though he hasn ’ t been there for over two months you see and feel Jensen in every corner of each room, the place mirroring his individuality.

I know I ask more of him than simply leaving England behind when I ask him to come back home to LA.

Thighs touching, we’re sitting on that bench in Hyde Park, looking at the beech tree Jensen likes so much that he had taken a photo of it one winter’s day almost two years ago to put it on my Christmas card. Every day we take a walk in the park. Every day it brings us a little further with Jensen getting stronger day by day. And every day, we take a break here, and we share the silence of our thoughts. 

The warm rays that shine through the green leaves draw a fascinating pattern of light and shadow onto Jensen ’s face and it seems a bit healthier, and not so pale and haggard anymore.

“Jen?” I take Jensen’s hand, twining our fingers together, not caring if anybody sees us or takes photos of us that will go around the world.

Smiling slightly, he returns the squeeze, closing his eyes, leaning his head against my shoulder. “Mmm,” he sighs contentedly but sleepily. The fresh air, the warmth and the exercise always tires him a little.

"I know you love living here, Jen." I finally bring up what has occupied my mind for a while. "You have a new life, wonderful friends and, most importantly, you found yourself here in London." Having opened his eyes again, Jensen is looking at me intensely and a little questioningly, not sure where this talk will lead to, but he nods, confirming what I already knew. "I know you ’ re very happy here, Jen. And there is nothing I would rather see than you being happy because, Jen, you deserve it so much, that happiness.  But you know, that happiness, it might lie somewhere else, not in London anymore." I take a deep breath, slowly letting it out. "Please, Jen, come home with me.”

Not answering, Jensen just plays with my fingers, looking at me with a weird expression I can ’t really read.  After long minutes, he smiles, squeezing my hand. “Jay, I love you so much." He looks sincere, like so many years ago when he told me the first time. "And I can ’ t even find words to express my feelings for what you gave me. But I can ’ t come home... Not yet. I ’ m sorry, Jay.”

Breathing heavily, a single tear slowly runs down his cheek. I kiss it away, press our hands right over my heart, and gently whisper, “I’ll wait, I’ll always wait."

***

After more than three months, I leave London on a dull, rainy day.

For weeks, the weather has shown itself from its best side, but now as I get into the cab, it mirrors our emotions. Thick raindrops beat against the car ’ s windows and blur my sight while my eyes follow Jensen.

Raising his hand in a last goodbye, he stands in front of his house, watching me leave with teary eyes. Of course, Jensen has offered to take me to the airport but he should avoid crowds because of his weak immune system and as saying goodbye isn ’ t easy for both of us we decided not to delay it. 

So we hugged long and tight, relishing that moment, being so close, listening to the other’s heartbeat, soft breathing and lovingly whispered words of goodbye.

Sharing the knowledge that, even though we a re separated by thousands of miles, we are so close in our hearts, gives us strength in that time of farewell.

***

Chad proves once more that he ’ s a real friend, having taken good care of everything while I was away. 

My dogs are healthy and well fed when they greet me wildly, and bark loud and happy, tails wagging. Chad also threw Mark out of the house when he didn ’ t want to leave, changed the locks and renewed the security system. And he waits for me once I finally arrive exhausted at the airport, pulling me into a strong hug and taking me home.

The following days aren ’ t easy. The big house seems empty without Mark and many things remind me of him. I barely wasted a thought on him while I was in London, but being back in LA with my own thoughts is different, more lonely.

What tortures me more than the memories of what once was are the thoughts of what will be.

First and foremost I am scared for Jensen, wondering how he is. Besides, I really miss him.

As challenging as the past three months were, as much toll as they took on us, especially on Jensen, they welded us together. Although Jensen decided to stay in London, we are aware of what we feel for each other.

While I deeply regret that Jensen didn ’ t come with me, I don ’ t question his decision. I ’m sure, there is a reason he let me go, something Jensen is still looking for, whatever that might be.

One day he will find it. 

Until then, I will be waiting for him.

It’s as simple as that. It’s the thing you do for love.

**December 2016**

It’s been one year since I received Jensen’s letter - the letter that changed our lives forever. The letter that brought us back together, that allowed me to give Jensen everything I could, the greatest gift of all: his life.

I remember how insecure I felt one year ago, wondering if I should even read the letter or burn it at once. I followed my heart and in the end, it led me back to Jensen again, giving me love and friendship. The following days, our first meeting after such a long time, the hours spent pondering what the future might hold for us, if there even could be a future for me and Jensen are still clear in my mind.

Today, I know that there is a future for us; we’re living it right now. But whether this future is really called love still lies in the dark.

The ringing doorbell pulls me out of my thoughts. A journey to the door a moment later has the young UPS driver handing me a small parcel. Recognizing Jensen ’ s handwriting, I feel like really traveling back in time.

I rip open the brown packing paper and box, holding a wrapped item and a letter in my hand. Like one year ago Jensen tells me what to do.

“ _Open me first._ ” He wrote on the paper the gift is wrapped in.

Hands trembling and heart beating in excitement, that ’s what I do and some seconds later I hold a book in my hands.

It isn ’ t any book, it ’ s Jensen ’ s book. A real thick hardcover novel called  _Theresa & Sophie._

Staring at my best friend ’s name on the cover, I really can ’ t believe my eyes, can ’t believe that Jensen actually made it. It’s huge, overwhelming and I am so proud of Jensen for having his book published. 

Reverently, hands trembling a little, I turn the book around to read the text on the backside.

Although it tells me that the story is about two girls who grow up together, losing sight of each other again and again, having arguments only to sooner or later find each other again, I somehow know this book is actually about Jensen and I.

The brightest smile of all lights my face as I press the novel to my heart and just let the amazement, pride and love I feel for my friend wash over me.

Taking in the scent of a freshly printed hardcover novel long and deep, I finally thumb through the first pages, my eyes sticking at the dedication.

_This book is dedicated to Jared._

_My friend. My savior. My soul mate._

_Simply my everything._

_With love, Jensen_

I sniffle as the meaning of the words sink in. I can ’t believe that he had a personal dedication like that published in a book... It makes me swell with love and the tears burning in my eyes are those of joy.

Beneath, Jensen added something else in his characteristic handwriting:

_Thanks for your friendship, your love,_

_this second chance and my life._

_Thanks for being the center of my world._

_I hope you know how much I love you, Jay._

_This book isn’t just for you. It’s for us._

Sitting down on my couch, I start to read.

Page after page, hour after hour, I read the whole book within the day. I forget to eat, to drink, and I only take a short break after Sadie nudges my knee softly, reminding me to let her and Harley out in the backyard if I don ’t want to have a mess somewhere in the house.

The tale of two girls who grow up as best friends in the 1920s in Southern Germany, only to be separated in the Second World War confusion really touches me. And once I finally reach the last of the more than 700 pages, reading about Theresa ’s and Sophie ’s reunion as old women, I know that there will be a happy ending for me and Jensen as well.

**February 2017**

It ’ s a day like every other but still something special because Jensen is coming home.

Tapping my feet impatiently against the floor, I wait for him at the arrivals gate, watch him loading his baggage onto a trolley and stepping through the sliding door.

Thanks to my height, he spots me at once and a few seconds later he is at my side.

Eyes shining with joy, I wrap my arms around him, not minding that paparazzi take photos of us that will travel around the world; Jensen is finally with me and that is all that matters.

Only once we pull apart, do I glance at his face.

The past months left their mark on my best friend. Jensen turns thirty-nine in a couple of days but he looks ten years older. It ’s alarming; his gaunt cheeks, the dark shadows beneath his eyes, his freckles sticking out against his too pale skin, how terribly thin he is. Beneath my hands I can feel his spine and his shoulder blades and I ’ m almost scared that I break his fragile bones if I hold him too tight. But his eyes, deep green like the ocean, are looking at me with as much life and joy as on that day over ten years ago when we shook hands for the first time and I know, deep within his fragile shell, Jensen is still him, no matter how sick he looks.

We silently walk to my car and only after I load Jensen ’ s luggage in the trunk and he sits down on the passenger side do we break the mutual silence.

“It’s good to see you, Jen." I take his hand in mine, squeezing it gently. "At last. I… I really missed you, man.” I swallow hard, forcing myself to bury my worries, not wanting Jensen to know how shocked I am. It doesn’t make me love him less, probably more, but he doesn’t know that and I want him to feel welcomed here, as happy as he can be.

“It’s good to be here, Jay." He smiles tiredly. "How’re you doing?”

During the ride home I tell him about my recent project and all the other news, about family and friends.

He listens intensely, asks a few questions, but whenever I ask about him, he avoids to look at me, and ignores the question. It is obvious that Jensen doesn’t want to talk about himself and his sickness, it ’s clear he knows what life made of him, what high price he had to pay for his survival.

I don ’ t push him to confide in me. If Jensen wants to talk, I will be there, like I promised.

***

Like countless times before, we ’re sitting  on my couch, watching a movie. Nevertheless, it ’ s quite different. Jensen only ate like a bird from the dinner I cooked while he was having a few hours rest, and he barely spoke until I finally gave up on some silly chatter and shared the silence with him. Now, unlike before, there ’s no banter, no jokes, no strength for silly commentaries about the film, and every time I peer over, he is curled up in the corner of the sofa, eyes fixed on the TV but half-closed.

Finally fatigue overwhelms Jensen and he falls asleep towards the end of the film, an occasional whimper and his closed eyes the only proof that something changed.

Without waking him up I carefully carry my friend into his bedroom.

He seems light as a feather and while I strip off his shoes and jeans and tuck Jensen in, my throat tightens with all the love and worry I feel for him.

I stay there for a while, watching him sleep, eyes fixed on the soft rise and fall of his chest, breathing with Jensen. A love so strong, like I have never felt before, washes over me and a part from me wishes I could stay here forever and just watch him sleep.

Reluctantly, I draw away, brushing my lips over his cheek, softly whispering my goodnight.

Lying in bed a little later, I let my thoughts turn around Jensen, wondering if I am ready for Jensen, if I am willing to make sacrifices, to cut back for his own sake. It ’s not that I really doubt myself. No matter how weak Jensen still is, I want this future with him. Jensen, though, simply deserves nothing else but truth and trust, and he deserves that I think about it before he settles down with me here again.

Only a few days ago I talked to Chad about it and he said one of the wisest, thoughtful things ever, not laughing at me, not bitching at Jensen, just giving me his honest opinion. Now, as I think about our possible future, Chad’s words are ringing in my ears once more:

“ _I know you love him, JT, but do you really know what it means living with him? No matter if he is your friend or your partner, he_ _’s still sick,_ _Jay, and in a way, he will always stay sick. He has to take heavy meds, has to deal with certain restrictions, simply has to waive things we take for granted. You_ _’l_ _l sacrifice your own happiness for Jensen, because that_ _’_ _s just the way you are, but you can_ _’_ _t avoid that he_ _’l_ _l be gone one day, a long time before your time comes. And all that remains are memories of ten, if you_ _’re luck_ _y maybe some more years, with a broken man by your side who was just a shadow of his former self, not more than a mere memory of the person he used to be. Are you ready, JT, to accept this? Are you ready to waste your golden years, and watch the man you love die, and to become gray and old alone?_

What Chad said was very harsh and exaggerated but, nevertheless, he was still right to a certain degree. Do I really know what living with Jensen means? Am I ready to cut back for the sake of the man I love?

Suffering ands surviving those hard first months of recovery with Jensen, I am sure I have seen the worst of it, even though a look at his haggard face and meager body tells me that he still hasn ’ t fully recovered, maybe never will. Nonetheless, I believe that Jensen can have a fulfilled life, that we can build ourselves a future together, that he can give me so much by just being with me. Whether as friends or more doesn ’ t really matter, because this way or the other, I will love him forever.

We only have to reach out, and take the risk, step onto that road of togetherness that fate has destined for us. If we just face it with a bit of confidence, if we don ’t let go and walk  side by side, I ’m sure the future, a decade or maybe two, or whatever God is willing to give us, will be a very happy one.

So yes, I ’ m ready, for Jensen and our future.

***

Some days pass by and, thanks to my care, Jensen ’ s health slowly improves. He doesn ’ t seem that tired anymore, eats more, and the mild spring sun tans his skin, slowly chasing the pallor away. Laughter booms through my house more frequently now, his smiles are more genuine, and the mischievous sparkle in Jensen ’s eyes is back.

Often, we silently sit together on my patio, lost in our own thoughts, watching the dogs romping over the lawn, or we are reading or dozing. It ’s quiet and peaceful, not only a balm on Jensen’s but also on my soul, giving us both a chance to relax, to be together, and to silently communicate like we used to do so often in the past. Sometimes, Jensen works on his new novel and I love watching him; tip of his tongue almost touching his nose, brow furrowed, he scribbles down his notes on a pad, collecting ideas, dismissing old ones.

It ’s one of these quiet moments, while I ’ m lost in a script my agent sent me, that Jensen ’s voice pulls me back to reality. “Jared?”

“Mmm?” Putting the script aside, I turn to face Jensen who is resting on a sun-lounger next to my own. Biting his lower lip and avoiding eye-contact, looking over the backyard and into the distance, he seems a little nervous and unusual distant. “I can’t stay,” he confesses.

“What?!” Deep down I know what Jensen means but I just can’t, don’t want to believe it, have to make sure that he is really talking about the thing I’ve been dreading the most, without even really thinking about it.

“Here. With you. In LA," Jensen stutters, looking shattered. "I’m…I’m sorry.”

Sadness chokes me. We never talked about it, I just assumed that Jensen ’ s stay here was permanent and not only a visit. Stupid me! How could I have been so naive, believing that Jensen might want to stay, when great friends and freedom await him in London?

I ’m stunned, confused, hurting and I really don ’t know what to say, and just need to find out why the man I love doesn’t want to stay with the man he loves, too.  “But, Jen… why not?” I ask, not able to control the tremble and sadness in the simple question.

“Isn’t it obvious?" Jensen asks, not able to hide the desperation in his voice. "Just look at me, Jay. Look what life did to me. I’m a wreck. I aged years in just a few months. And don’t deny it," Jensen adds when he sees me shaking my head. "I saw your shocked expression when you picked me up from the airport. But don’t worry, I don’t blame you. Every time I look into the mirror it gives me the creeps, I don’t recognize myself anymore." He breathes hard and it’s obvious how hard it is for Jensen to talk about it. "I can’t give you anything anymore, Jared. I should leave. So you can remember me like I used to be before all this happened, like we used to be years ago and you can live your own life like you deserve it. Find a nice guy who is worth being with you. Who is whole. Who doesn’t have to take pills every day, whose body doesn’t fight against himself. Who…” Jensen’s voice breaks, overwhelmed by all his emotions. His speech makes me realize how much he still suffers and how awful it must be for him to watch his own body wane, to see himself so fragile, so weak, and to be reliant on meds who cause the most uncomfortable side effects.

I still don ’t really know what to say, as I am sure that isn’t the whole truth, so instead of offering my comfort, I question my friend further.  “That ’ s why you stayed in London, Jen?”

He nods curtly. “I wasn ’ t sure about us, not really anyways," he admits apologetically. "I went to London because I lost myself and my love. I found myself again, wonderful friendships, but not the love I used to have and knew - until you suddenly came into my life again and hurried to my deathbed so unexpectedly. You surprised me so much. After all what ’s happened. I knew we were friends again but I wasn ’ t sure if you ’ d come when I asked Laurie to call you. You came and what you did, Jay, it took my breath away. In a way, it still does. I ’m alive because of you, Jared. A part of you keeps me alive. It’s an almost incomprehensible thought," Jensen admits, his hand resting on his belly where my kidney keeps Jensen alive.  "I was prepared to die, I already could feel Death calling me. Then you came, even though I broke your heart, and you were just there for me, holding my hand, supporting me, giving me love and strength, and, most of all, a part of yourself so I could survive. That really was the greatest possible proof of love imaginable. Not once did I feel more loved than in the moment I realized you really wanted to do it, Jay." Jensen sniffs, fighting hard to hold back the tears. "Afterwards, I was confused and hurting and I had to come to terms with myself and what happened, there was so much to process... I was so confused. My feelings for you, Jared, never changed. They only got stronger and stronger. The selfish part of me wants to stay, but I can ’t burden you with my frail body and health. You deserve better."

Not quite sure about my next move, I get up from the sun-lounger, looking down at Jensen, at his gaunt face and his moist eyes. Since he has been sick, Jensen is prone to tears and I can ’ t really blame him; he went through so much shit and crying can be comfort; it isn ’t a sign of weakness like so many people think.

Holding out my hand invitingly, I smile down at him. “Come, Jen, let’s go inside. Let’s have some tea and talk. It’s easier with a little warmth in our body and heat on our skin."

His fragile hand finds mine and I pull him up, not letting go afterward. Fetching the blanket Jensen was wrapped in with my free hand, I put it around his shoulders, hand staying there, both assuring and calming, and gently leading him inside.

Without saying a word, Jensen lets me take care of him, squeezing my hand in a gesture of thanks. He doesn ’ t even fight once I wipe away the one tear that escapes his wet eyes.

The fire I lit an hour ago crackles happily and already spreads warmth through the room. Making sure that Jensen is warmly tucked in his blanket and snuggled comfortably into a corner of the couch, I leave for the kitchen to prepare our tea.

While the tea is brewing I go to fetch a small, blue box out of my bedroom and hide it in my pocket. I actually wanted to wait for Jensen ’ s birthday in two days to give it to him but maybe today is a better occasion.

Ten minutes later I ’ m back in the living-room, handing Jensen the herbal tea that smells of summer and meadow. Sitting down in the other corner of the couch, legs as bent as Jensen ’ s, our feet, mine bare, his in warm, thick socks, meet in the middle of the sofa.

A little smile, kind of amused, kind of nostalgic, twitches over my lips once I think about the way I would have laughed at this scene three years ago, sitting on a couch with Jensen, nursing a hot mug of herbal tea instead of a bottle of beer. But that ’ s how life goes and it ’s only a minor sacrifice to make for Jensen’s health.

Sharing a companionable silence, sipping the hot beverage, I carefully think about my next words, about what I want to do now. Not because I ’m not sure of it, because I’ve never been more certain, but because I think it’s very important that Jensen doesn’t get the wrong impression, that he realizes that the things I do are done in love, not in pity.

“Jen, I’d like you to listen to me, okay? And once I’m done, I just ask you to think about what you want to do again. Is that okay for you?”

“Yeah,” Jensen murmurs quietly, hands wrapped tightly around the big mug.

Taking a deep breath, I pull the little box out of my pocket, offering it to Jensen. “In this box, Jen," I start to speak, “there is a ring. I bought it over three years ago, when we were still together, in the year everything went down the drain. Back then I was so sure we could make it through every storm as long as we’d just stick together." Smiling sadly, I run my fingers through my hair, as if I ’d try to push the memories aside. "I wanted to put this ring onto your finger and, well, propose to you. I missed my chance because a few days after I bought the ring - you know what happened. But I kept it. I don ’ t know why, because I really didn ’ t expect us to ever talk to each other again, let alone be friends or even more again one day." I shake my head, exhaling loudly. "Maybe I was just being sentimental; you know how I sometimes can be." Jensen chuckles. "Anyways, a few weeks ago I dug it out of my drawer , took it to a jeweler, and had it engraved. Now Jen…” I take a deep breath, moistening my lips with the tip of my tongue, swallowing hard, once, twice, thrice. “I ’ d like you to have it and I ’ d love you to wear it. Consider the ring for what it was meant to be from the beginning: a token of my love and a token of my friendship. The purpose though, is your decision, Jen. You can wear it for what it originally was meant to be: as an engagement ring." Emotions slowly threatening to overwhelm me, I feel my eyes burning with tears as I propose to Jensen, as I see his eyes growing wider as he realizes what this is all about. "I don ’ t want anyone else but you. You still can give me so much even though you don ’ t believe it right now. I ’ d like to spend my life with you, Jensen, and I want to share it with you and nobody else. I want to make the best of the time that is given to us." I put all my love, all my determination into each word, wanting to make sure that Jensen really believes me, believes that I want this life with him. "But if you can ’ t do it, Jen, if you don ’ t want it, and if you leave this house and go back to London, wear it as a friendship ring, or as a simple gift. But please wear it. You were meant to have it."

Jensen’s emotions are clearly written on his face, his features full of surprise and emotion. Fingers shaking, he takes the little box and opens it. The shiny ring is beautiful and simple, made of white and red gold, slender and not swanky.

Jensen is looking at it reverently, feeling it between his fingertips, moist eyes glued to the inscription _:_

_Always ~ With Love, Jared_

With his whole body now trembling, his chest rising and falling heavily, he finally looks at me with those beautiful eyes that have always told me so much about his feelings, asking, just to be certain, “Are you sure, Jay?”

Smiling, I reach out, gently touching Jensen ’s knee, my thumb lazily brushing over his leg.  “Yes, Jen. Absolutely. I haven ’ t been so sure about anything else before. I want this. I want you. I know that our life won ’ t be happy and smiley all the time. That there surely will be hard times ahead. And, having learned it the hard way, we both know  that there are things that can pull lovers apart, no matter how much you love each other and no matter how hard you try." An almost imperceptible shiver runs down my spine when I remember the past once more, both of our pain, our anger and desperation. "But, Jen," I say, my smile even wider, chasing the evil memories way, thinking of the good times, "the two of us, we’re like Theresa and Sophie. And you know that, too. Why else did you write that book for us? Whatever destiny holds for us, wherever the surges of life carry us, sooner or later we are washed onto the same shore again. We’re two parts of one whole, Jen. I know you’re not whole anymore. But beauty and health fade, Jen. What counts is the beauty within. And what I see when I look into your eyes, into your heart, Jensen, is beautiful and so special. So yeah, I’m sure.”

I reach the end of my speech, and the end of another journey, because the path in front of me is forking in two different directions. One is narrow, made to walk alone and leading into darkness, into a life without Jensen. The other path is broad enough to share it with Jensen and it leads into the light.

For a long time there is silence between us. I can hear the fire crackling in the hearth, Sadie ’ s soft paws whispering over the tiles in the kitchen, and Jensen shifting on the couch, his feet moving back and forth.

Watching him, he seems as nervous but much more unsure than I am,  playing with the ceramic mug in his hand, breathing loud enough to hear, scrunching his face into grimaces that would be funny if it weren’t for the whole situation to be so nerve-wracking. The longer it takes, the more unsure I become, slowly giving up hope, preparing myself to walk down that narrow, dark path.

“Jay?" Jensen’s weak, trembling voice pulls me out of my unpleasant thoughts. "Please ask me again.”

I nod, taking a deep breath before I repeat my question, my plea. “Jen, do you want to stay? It doesn ’t matter whether you stay as my boyfriend or my best friend. What matters is that you are with me.”

“Yeah, Jay.” He sniffs, a tear already hanging in his lashes.

Hands trembling, Jensen gives me the ring. “Please put it on my finger, Jay.”

“On which one, Jen?” I ask, sounding insecure, not knowing what will happen now, if Jensen wants to marry me or just wants the friendship part in our relationship.

He  smiles shyly, holding out his heavily shaking left hand. 

I can’t blame him because my heart is beating like a blacksmith ’ s hammer against my chest, and my hands are sweaty and trembling almost as much as my friend ’s. 

“On the finger you intended to put it on three years ago.” The tear is freed, slowly finding his way down Jensen’s skin, over freckles, over stubble, dropping into his lap.

Shivering in joy and memorizing this wonderful moment so I can carry it in my heart for the rest of my life, I slowly and reverently slip the ring on the fourth finger of Jensen’s left hand. It is a bit loose and I promise myself that I’ll coddle Jensen until it fits perfectly. My hand stays on his, with our fingers entwined and at the same time we both sit up, finally looking at each other in the eye, lost in the other’s open, happy glance.

Leaning closer, we seal our promise with a kiss. It is much more than just a promise to make our relationship legal. It’s a vow to spend the time God is giving us together, as two halves of one whole, as best friends, as lovers, as confidants.

The kiss itself is soft and tender, slow and beautiful. Our lips play with each other, our tongues touch, and it’s everything we missed in those past three years. Not one single kiss with Mark left this feeling of warmth and happiness inside me.

When our lips part eventually, I enfold Jensen’s emaciated body in my arms, slowly lying down on the couch and pulling him with me.

S miling like I haven’t seen Jensen smile in a very long time, he cuddles close. I feel his hipbone stab into my side, feel his spine under my fingers and each and every one of his ribs beneath my hand. 

It breaks my heart, overwhelms me with worry and fear. Nevertheless, I ’ ve never loved the man in my arms more than in this moment. And that is what I gently whisper into Jensen ’ s ear.

*

Once we go to bed after having talked for hours, Jensen comes with me. It isn ’ t anything special for engaged couples but it’s a big step for Jensen, who admitted more than once how much he suffers from his poor condition, of what the illness did to him, and how sick he looks. Every time he mentioned something like that self-consciously, I assured Jensen that I don ’t love him less, that I don’t care for myself, only for him, because  _he_ does care so much. But I’m not sure if he really believes me, if he can see himself with my eyes, can overlook his broken shell, see the beauty that lies within.

Hence, I ’m not too surprised for what Jensen does once he crawls in bed with me, making himself comfortable under the warm covers. Sliding closer to spoon him, he silently shakes his head, reaching his hand out with fingers widely opened in a stopping gesture. "Not yet... First, I need you to know what you are getting when you take me," Jensen says, face all serious.  “You should see it. Me. Without any clothes hiding my body.”

"Jen." I want to object but he gently puts his hand on my lips, shaking his head. "Please, Jay. Just do it. Strip it off." He points towards his pajama shirt. "And look at me."

"Jen." I try once more, not letting Jensen cut in this time."I look at you every day and I know what I am getting. What I see; Generosity. Trust. Love. Happiness.  _You, Jensen._ Simply everything I ask for."

Blushing, his smile is small and sweet. Not saying anything any longer, Jensen reaches out, taking my hand and putting it onto his soft shirt, right over his heart, his fingers ghosting over my skin for a while. It feels wonderfully intimate and I could sit like that forever, feeling Jensen ’s heartbeat beneath my palm and his warm touch, but this seems important for Jensen and I don’t have the heart to deny him.

Sighing, I move, folding my legs into a cross-legged position. Slowly I unbutton the fleecy black flannel pajama shirt Jensen is wearing, not looking at the pale skin that is revealed but at Jensen ’s face, his quivering eyelids, his tongue moistening each lip . 

Once I finally reached the last button, my hand sneaks beneath the fabric, pushing it aside, finding its place right above my boyfriend ’ s heart, gently caressing the skin there. My gaze, still fixed on Jensen ’s face, now slowly wanders down , from his thorax where every single rib stands out against his pale skin, right to the pink scar where my kidney keeps Jensen alive.

“Can I, Jen?” My voice is barely a whisper.

He nods.

A big lump grows in my throat when my fingers follow my look, slowly brushing over Jensen ’ s warm skin, tiny hair tickling my fingertips, and right to the thick, rosy scar. Carefully, reverently, I trace its course, up and down, before it disappears under my big palm. Once more I realize that I literally became a part of Jensen, that a little something of me is keeping my boyfriend alive. 

Taking in a sharp breath, I close my eyes as a wave of emotions wash over me and only open them again once I’m sure that I’m good, that I can handle it.

Covering the skin with countless little kisses, gently burying my nose into Jensen ’s stomach, I try to feel, to smell, and just to take in Jensen again, worshiping the scar that brought so much pain as the proof of life it is.

Finally e mbracing my boyfriend, I hold Jensen close, chest against chest, safe and secure. Breathing in the same rhythm, I feel the movement of his chest against mine, his hair tickling my skin, his fingers holding on so tight, and I wonder if two humans ever felt closer to each other  than we do right now.

**July 2017**

One week after my 34 th birthday Jensen and I are getting married. It’s a quiet, informal celebration in a huge park of a historical hotel somewhere in Connecticut. Our families are with us, and some close friends like Chris and Steve, Mike, Tom, Chad and Misha. And of course Laurie and her buddies came over from London, amusing everyone with their British accents and humor, and I finally bury the last sparkle of jealousy, seeing once more what great friends they are for Jensen and how good they are for him.

The weather is showing itself from its best side, with the sun shining down on us warm and bright, and the ceremony that binds us together is personal and simply beautiful. When we slip the simple, golden rings on each other’s fingers and seal our vow with a tender kiss that seems to go on and on, we are the happiest men alive, finally whole again and connected in every way you could wish for. Once our lips part, my vision is strangely blurred with just Jensen’s freckles scattered over his skin, his knowing smile he only smiles for me, and his emerald eyes, shining with tears like mine.

Partying, laughing, talking, and dancing, we stay until the crack of dawn. It ’s the most precious wedding gift of all to see Jensen that easy and relaxed, with healthy color blushing his cheeks, and his eyes full of life and joy. 

Even  when we finally call it a night and retreat to our cozy suite, we are too exhilarated to actually go to sleep. Jensen is already sitting in bed, head rested on several pillows, legs covered by the light comforter, smiling broadly at me as I join him and cuddle close, with arms and legs wrapped tightly around him and my head pressed against his heart.

Listening to its beat for a while, I cherish the feeling of Jensen ’s fingers ghosting over my head, my neck, my spine and an occasional kiss pressed against my shoulder or earlobe, his sweet moans and whimpers.

“Jen,” I say eventually, my voice hoarse and raw after all the chatter, laughter and singing, looking up to see my husband’s face. “I know we agreed not to give each other anything because we have everything we need." Smiling broadly, I catch his lips in a quick kiss, realizing it’s so true. We have everything we could have wished for - us - again after all those years. "But, um, you know me." I chuckle, scratching the back of my head in embarrassment. "I just couldn’t resist. And," I add when I see that Jensen wants to object, "it’s actually for the both of us.”

Sighing almost regretfully, I let go of Jensen ’s warm body, and slide back enough to  open the nightstand ’ s drawer, pulling out two items. With a mixture of a secretive and amused expression on my face, I hand him a little blue box – exactly the same in which the engagement  ring waited in for so many years – and an envelope.

An amorous smile on his lips, Jensen slightly shakes his head. “Oh, Jay, you shouldn ’ t have, but you know," he says, looking like a mischievous kid in front of a pile of presents under the Christmas tree, "I love surprises. Which one to open first?”

“The envelope.” It’s the minor of the presents, just a little something to start our life as newly-weds, a little journey together, long overdue.

Gasping, Jensen ’s eyes grow wider as he pulls out a simple printed sheet of the envelope . What counts, though, is what ’ s  printed on it - a ticket for a flight that leaves Boston in three days, heading to Munich. There ’s a card enclosed and I watch Jensen opening it with trembling hands and an ethereal expression on his face.

_Dear Jen,_

_I think we should start our life together_

_where it had such a happy ending for Theresa and Sophie._

_I love you. Forever._

_Jared_

“Wow, Jay," Jensen stammers, his face an interplay of half a dozen emotions, from surprise to joy. "I’m dumbstruck, really. That’s awesome, Jay."

Smiling broadly, I really can ’t repress how pleased I am with myself that Jensen likes the little surprise so much. "It’s nothing, Jen. It’s just to let us have a wonderful time there and well, if you think this," I point towards the ticket, "is awesome, w ait until you see the other present.“

Jensen looks even more curious - if that’s possible - as he opens the box.  “A key, Jay?" he asks, looking confused, and it makes me giggle, having achieved what I wanted to.

“Yep,” I answer without giving any explanation because his expression is just hilariously funny.

“And, um are you going to tell me where it fits? Or," he says, and now he even looks a little horror-stricken, blushing deeply, "is it a symbolic present?”

I laugh out loud but answer my husband ’s question seriously.  “No, princess, you ’ve  been holding the key to my heart for a very long time.” Smirking, I kiss his embarrassment, and my own, away and a beautiful smile grows on hi lips. Suddenly Jensen seems young and healthy again and I hope I ’l l be lucky enough to see this smile countless times before God takes my love away from me.

“Have a guess, baby,” I prompt.

“Dude,” he sighs, looking a bit clueless. “Right. It is neither a car key, nor a bike key or something like that.” He scratches his neck, pouting a little, furrowing his brow when he goes over the several possibilities. “Is it a house-key?” Jensen asks eventually, though unsure.

“Bingo!” I cheer, clapping him companionably on the shoulder.

“Jay, you bought me a house?!” Jensen calls in surprise, staring at me in disbelief.

Smiling sassily, I correct him. “Us, Jen. It ’s ours because, you know, I hope we’ll be spending a lot of wonderful, happy years, days and hours there .” I reach out to take his hand in mine, kissing it gently.

"Wow. I don ’ t know what to say." Once more I managed to dumbfound my husband. "When?“

“Baby," I say with a laugh, teasingly poking Jensen in his chest, "shouldn’t you ask where it is?”

“Why where?" Again there is that funny look of confusion written all over my husband’s face. "Isn’t it a new place in LA?”

Shaking my head, I ask, even a little surprised, “Why should I buy a new house  in LA, Jen? Don’t you like our home?”

“Of course I do." Luckily Jensen sounds convinced. "But I thought that maybe you... because of Mark and…” He shrugs once, biting his lower lips and doesn’t finish his thoughts.

“No. I really like our place in LA, Jen," I answer. "Mark is in the past. I haven’t even been thinking about him for months because really, all I care and think about is you, Jen." I smile at him, dimples deep. "I have to admit that I considered getting our old place in LA back, though, but in the end, I decided against it. You know, too many sad memories there. I want a new start with you, hon. So, this key doesn’t fit to any door in LA.”

“Jay…. Please… Don’t keep me in suspense any longer," Jensen whines. "I am bursting with curiosity here!“ He really is, and Jensen being so excited and full of life is a sight that makes me very happy.

“Hey, you want to give up? That soon? That’s not the man I fell in love with." I poke him again, this time into his side, making him squee like a girl. "You’re such a fighter, Jen.”

He really is. Ever since our engagement, he has fought, day in, day out, against his own body, his anxiety - and he won. Jensen gained weight, learned to smile, to laugh, to let happiness and light inside his heart once more . One year after the surgery, he has learned to live with its consequences and I’ve never been prouder of Jensen. Smiling widely, I offer my husband another clue. “Right, you need to guess it, but here’s another hint. ‘It’s a beautiful place.’" Jensen rolls his eyes because really, that is not much, so many places on earth are stunning. "And," I say and pause, air pregnant with excitement, "it isn’t in North America.”

Jensen scrunches his face, racking his brain over it. “Is it in….Munich?" he asks eventually.

“No, sorry hon. It would have been a nice idea, though. Do you think you’d have liked it there?”

“Don’t know." Jensen shrugs. "I’ve never been there. But..," now his eyes are shining, "if we like it, we could buy a house there, can we?”

“Of course, Jen." I laugh. "You can buy houses wherever you want as long as you don’t overspend the budget." I lick my lips, Jensen’s eyes following the movement of the tip of my tongue, looking very interested. “You’re getting closer. At least, the continent’s right." Once more, there is confusion in Jensen’s face, and I finally give in, giving him all the information he needs. "Go further up north. They’re famous for their soccer... bad food... Harry Potter... And yeah, I think I remember your buddies are living there as well." I grin because, really, that’s the least I could do for Jensen. He came back to me, giving up his happiness in London for happiness with me, but I can at least build us a nest there where we always can come back to when we want to.

“Oh Jay!" he jubilates, jumping excitedly up and down the mattress. "You bought me a house in London?!”

“Us, Jen. How often do I have to say the house is for the both of us?'" I laugh. "And you might be a little disappointed because," I say and try for an apologetic face, "the place isn’t in London. It’s a cottage in Devon; very peaceful, remote, and with a stunningly beautiful backyard full of flowers and roses." It really is. I fell in love with it the first time I saw it on the internet, and when I secretly flew over to England while Jensen was spending a couple of days with his folks in Dallas, I knew I had to get that place, no matter the cost. "It’s a place where we both can calm down and relax when we need to.”

Jensen ’s arms, still way too thin, enfold me, pressing me tightly to his body, and holding me for minutes. Putting the softest, tiniest kisses on the spots he can reach, he whispers an emotional, “Thank you so much, Jay,” in my ear, again and again. 

I know he not only means the honeymoon and the house, but everything else I ’ ve given to Jensen recently.

"Shh, It’s okay, baby," I whisper back, rubbing my hands over my husband’s back, soothingly, lovingly. I feel warm, fuzzy, euphoric and I am moved to the point where I almost break down weeping, the lump in my throat growing thicker to the point I fear it will choke me with all the love I feel for the man in my arms.

Looking my eyes for a short but intimate moment, Jensen now covers my face with kisses, first very gentle, then more and more demanding as his fingers stroke over my chest and back, and  come to rest on my hips before they wander further down.

Jensen might have been broken, but he certainly hasn’t forgotten how to please me, and his fingers are very deft and greedy as he strips off my pajama pants and boxers, stroking, petting and kneading my balls and cock.

Moans and sighs of pure lust escape my throat as my blood rushes south, and I hungrily strip off Jensen’s pants, feeling his cock getting harder, twitching in my palm once it’s released, growing, weeping with pre-come while I do not much but brush the sensitive flesh.

Jensen’s hands seem to be everywhere, causing shivers of pleasure to run down my spine again and again, and a sparkling heat on my skin wherever Jensen’s hot fingertips touch it.

It looks like Jensen conjures the lube out of thin air and, moaning and stammering, he carefully prepares me. First one, then two long fingers slide into me, stroking and pressing those spots, shooting me out of space, pumping up the volume of sensual moans.

Then, finally, while the sun is rising in the east, Jensen carefully slides into me, loves me and becomes one with me, while he breathes out little puffs that sound like “I love you”.

**August 2017**

The sun is setting in the west and its warm rays shine on the oaks and beeches that grow in the huge park in the heart of Munich, throwing their long shadows on the paths and meadows and warming our  faces. Hand in hand, we stroll along the graveled paths and enjoy the quietness that is only occasionally disturbed by a barking dog, a bike passing by, the cricket’s chirping and the soft swoosh of a stream nearby.

It ’ s our last evening in Munich. We ’ve spoiled ourselves for one week at a luxurious hotel, enjoyed the good, solid German food, and saw most of the sights of the city. We even climbed St Peter ’ s tower and let our view wander to the Alps that seemed so close, like they rose up to the sky directly behind the city borders. We also went where our eyes led us and visited two of the uncountable lakes on the foothills of the Alps, enjoyed the charming villages and the fresh air there. Now we finally retrace Theresa ’ s and Sophie ’ s steps before a plane takes us to London tomorrow, where we ’ ll spend the rest of the summer in our new cottage in Devon.

Stepping onto this graveled path had a symbolic meaning for me. It felt like stepping onto that road that was made for Jensen and I, the road I saw when I slid the ring onto his finger, the road that leads into the light, that brings us into our future. We don’t know what the future will hold for us, look forward to it with a mixture of curious anticipation and worries, but, against all circumstances, we were given this future and are both ready to make the best of it.

Finally the Monopterus can be seen and we climb the rising path  to the little temple. Worriedly I look at Jensen, wondering if all that walking and climbing, all the exercise, isn’t too much for him, but he simply smiles when our eyes meet. 

Once we finally reach the top of the hill, the view over the park and tree tops to the city ’ s towers, gleaming in the golden evening sun, is stunning.

For long moments we share a comfortable silence, lost in our own thoughts, our worries and hopes for our future.

“Jay?” Jensen says quietly, looking over at me, brushing his thumb over my skin. "Thanks for, you know, all your love and support. Bringing me here. It’s beautiful. Quiet and peaceful. Right now," he sighs, "I can almost believe that we will have a happy and bright future together even though I’m scared of what is lying ahead.”

“Jen.” I squeeze his hand. “I know you are. And I’m scared, too." I take a deep breath that almost sounds like a sob. "Of losing you, of what awaits us, and most of all, of the time when you won’t be with me any longer. But, Jen," I begin, and now I smile, although a part of me feels like clinging onto Jensen and crying, "the only thing we can do is to fight our worries about the future, living in the here and now instead, because we simply don’t know what’s going to happen, sweetie. We should take each step together, one at a time and enjoy every single moment that is given to us like it is our last. And if we do this, Jen, then we don’t need to be afraid of what is awaiting us, but can be assured that we will have a wonderful and fulfilled time together. No matter if it’s a year, a decade or half a century."

He looks at me, eyes greener than ever before, big and trustful. I see that Jensen believes me even before he nods almost imperceptibly. His heart is now not only filled with hope but with the knowledge that everything will be alright as long as I am with him and he is with me, and that the future we already started will be a good and bright one, no matter how long our forever will be.

Wrapping my arms around my husband, I hold him close to my chest, feeling the beloved proof of his precious life, and pressing my lips against his forehead.

We are still standing together like that when the sun fades into twilight and slowly takes the heat of the day away. As I inhale Jensen’s familiar fragrance and feel his warm body melting into mine I know the fire burning within my heart won’t extinguish as long as Jensen is with me, keeping me warm and safe. “I love you, Jen. Forever.”

I hear Jensen taking a deep breath, not breathing for a few heartbeats, like time stood still, like he captured that moment to keep it safe in his heart.

He doesn’t say a word but kisses me, so expressively that it tells me more than a thousand words ever could. And as we drink from each other’s lips, feeling the other’s warm breath on our faces and hearing the others soft sighs and whimpers, I vow to myself that I will give Jensen back what he means to me every single remaining day: trusted best friend, passionate, sensual lover and boundless, beloved confidant.

**Epilogue**

**July 2034**

Today would have been our 17 th anniversary, but instead it’s the first one I have to endure on my own, the first one Jensen doesn’t live to see anymore. I’m sitting on our terrace in our beautiful safe haven in Devon, a steaming mug of tea in my hand and a warm woolen blanket wrapped around my body. The rain that has been falling down for a few days now chills the air and fits my melancholic mood. It not only befell me this morning, but has been my steady companion ever since Jensen died in my arms, hurting yet still so peacefully, just three weeks after his 56 th birthday.

The kidney I gave Jensen kept him alive much longer than I thought would be possible but, eventually, its end was near and the organ started to fail. It wouldn ’t have necessarily been Jensen’s death sentence, but he decided against a second surgery.

For what seemed like hours I cried in my husband ’s arms once he told me, and no matter how often I begged him to think it through, he was determined and didn ’ t change his mind. Smiling gratefully, with tears in his eyes, Jensen told me that those seventeen w onderful years by my side were more than he could have ever wished for, more than he ever deserved, and he wanted someone else to have the chance to live with the transplant he would have gotten.

In those last days of Jensen’s life, when I didn’t leave his side and held his hand or just his sick, failing body in my arms, gave him love and comfort, we were looking back at his life and all the things we experienced, saw and did.

Even though it was a time of sadness and tears, it also was a time of laughter and joy, recalling all the beautiful moments, all our first times, reliving our love once more.

Remembering the time of Jensen’s first transplantation, he eventually admitted that he wouldn’t have had the strength to survive another year like the first one after the surgery. It broke my heart that Jensen didn’t want to fight again, but a part of me understood and finally I accepted and respected his wish.

Sighing deeply, I let my glance wander across the green lawn, the many, blooming rose trees and other flowers, washed out with the countless rain-showers the weather has brought recently. Rain drops steadily beating on the little roof and stones, cool, fresh air, smelling of moist soil, and the occasional breeze whispering over my face calm me down, give me peace after remembering the hardest time of my life.

A letter from Jensen’s sister, Mackenzie, is an almost imperceptible weight in my lap, and I wonder what it contains. Maybe photos of her daughter’s wedding that I just couldn’t bear to attend.

Sighing, I open the envelope but instead of a letter or photos, I find a smaller envelope and a little note written in Mackenzie ’s tidy writing attached to it.

_Dear Jared,_

_Before Jensen died he gave me this letter to give to you on your anniversary._

_Don’t worry, I haven’t read it, bu_ _t I’m sure it_ _’_ _s something specia_ _l. I hope you know_

_how much my brother loved you._

_I hope we´ll see each other soon,_

_Love, Mac_

Chest tightening, I feel tears burning in my eyes when I walk down memory lane once more, walk back to LA, to those few days before Christmas, of another letter Jensen sent, a very unexpected one that changed both our lives forever and for the better.

Jensen’s familiar handwriting is immortalized on the same expensive writing paper and, like then, a hint of Jensen’s aftershave lingers on it.

Today, my reasons are different but still I hesitate to open the envelope. The letter is Jensen ’ s last greeting, his last words to me, written with the knowledge that he won ’ t be here much longer, words he wanted to give me on a very special day so I can make my future without him. Reading it for the first time will be like hearing his voice again, and when I ’m finished , the last thing Jensen left for me, apart from all my memories, will be gone. 

That makes this letter an incredibly precious treasure.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and wrap myself even tighter into the blanket as a shiver runs down my spine when I remember visiting Jensen ’ s grave this morning. 

The clear, cool morning air was damp, heavy with the scent of nature, the wet grass beneath my boots so green.

Kneeling down, to be as close as possible to Jensen ’s final resting place, I  talked to him, certain that he can hear and see me  wherever he is, not only my body but the depth of my heart and soul. Adorning his grave with three dark red roses, the only token of love I can leave him now, countless tears were running down my che eks  and mingled with the many raindrops once the floodgates of heaven opened again. 

It felt like Jensen was crying with me, seeing and sharing my pain, missing me as much as I miss him.

And because Jensen could listen to my words I ’ m ready to read his.

_Dear Jared,_

_It_ _’_ _s our 17_ _th_ _anniversary and for the first time since we_ _’_ _ve taken our vows you have to spend it on your own because I left you, went where you can_ _’_ _t follow me yet._

_To know and to write that I_ _’m dying_ _, Jay, breaks my heart._

_Not because I_ _’m scared or_ _clinging to my life. I was prepared to go so many_ _years ago, back_ _in_ _London, until you c_ _ame and saved me. You not only saved me by giving me your kidney, Jay, but you saved me in so many different ways that I can_ _’_ _t_ _even begin to list them all._ _You made my life worthwhile, even though I struggled because of the meds I had to take and the pain I was in. Every day by your side was a wonderful, and precious gift, my love. Every smile or laugh, every little touch or gentle embrace, every conversation, every single word you said was something I cherished. Even when we quarreled I felt loved by you._

_My heart breaks for you, Jay. We were so close and I can already see you sitting somewhere in this wonderful cottage that became our home, cursing our fate, lamenting so much that you can_ _’_ _t enjoy the blooming glory of the flowers in our garden or the terrific landscape we used to admire so many times._

_But it shouldn_ _’_ _t be like this, Jared. You’re still young eno_ _ugh, at the beginning of your 50s, and I’m_ _sure plenty of years await you before we_ _’l_ _l meet again in eternity. I don_ _’_ _t doubt that we will see each other in the place where we are going when our time_ _on earth comes_ _to an end, because you and me, we were made for each other until the end of all things. I hope you don_ _’_ _t doubt it._

_I hope that you will find your smile again, because, Jay, that_ _’_ _s how I loved you the most. Your smile, your beam, your laugh… it made the sun rise on a rainy day and gave me so much. So please, sweetie, enjoy the time that is still given to you, all those years, like we enjoyed those wonderful years of our friendship and love._

Silent tears are streaming down my cheeks and I really have to be careful that they don´t leave ugly spots on this precious letter.

I remember all the  years of us together, in the beginning just as friends, then as lovers, and what really sticks out are our laughter and smiles. We laughed so much: when we played pranks on each other, when we were on set or enjoyed interacting with the fans at conventions. Us smiling at each other, after we hugged, after we kissed, after we made love, or just when we were sitting together, holding hands, showing with that simple gesture that we loved no one else as much as the other. Our laughs and smiles accompanied us through all these years.

Finally, for the first time today, a weak smile is conjured upon my lips, just thinking about my beloved husband’s smile and how often he made me laugh.

_Promise me that you will try, okay? I hate to play that card, but maybe you can really see that as my dying wish, Jay. I want to see you smile when I_ _’_ _m watching you from my cloud in Heaven and not grief for the years that_ _we’ll miss._

Swallowing hard, I a m  once more overwhelmed by how well Jensen knew me. He could tell that I really was grieving for the years we might have  had if he would have had the surgery, instead of smiling, and remembering those wonderful happy years we actually had.

I promise myself to at least try to fulfill Jensen ’ s last wish.

_Please remember what we really had and don_ _’_ _t live on dreams of what we might have had if our fate had been different. Believe me, Jay, I_ _’v_ _e wondered more than once what might have happened if I hadn_ _’_ _t shot that movie… if I hadn_ _’_ _t taken those pills that made me an addict… if my kidneys hadn_ _’t_ _been damaged. I_ _’_ _ve wondered whether we_ _’d_ _have been as happy as we were. I don’t know, Jay. Maybe another disaster would have struck, maybe we would have gone separate ways nonetheless, without finding each other again... Just recently, I have reached the point where I realized that it doesn_ _’t_ _work to dwell on dreams and imaginations. The only thing that counts is the here and now, and that you should be grateful for everything you have and had, just the way it is and was._

These thoughts, this quarrel with myself, us, and our past is familiar to me as well.

Again Jensen is right. It doesn ’ t work to live in an alternative universe or an imaginary  time-line , wondering what might have been or what you could have had if certain things had been different. 

What happened was probably destined to happen – all the wonderful times we had and the bad ones too, Jensen ’ s sickness and what we learned through it.  It taugh t us many lessons and, looking back to those years, I know that we had a wonderful, unique relationship , something special and so much more than many other people ever have. 

The knowledge of having been blessed calms me down, lets the tears that are still escaping my eyes finally run dry and gives me a bit of peace .

_I am grateful, Jay. For everything you gave me, in our friendship, in our relationship. For your never ending support while we were shooting Supernatural, for every single evening we spent as the close friends we were, laughing, drinking, enjoying our lives. We were so young, Jay!_

_I am grateful for every genuine hug, for our first kiss we shared so many years ago, and that finally tied us together in such a strong way. And I thank you and God for everything that came after that first kiss – most of all, for the love you gave me, Jay._

_Looking back, I_ _’_ _m even grateful that you threw me out of the house because, as horrible as it had been then, I think it_ _didn’t do our relationship any harm in the long run. Because that second relationship was even more honest and intense. It was a gift._

_I’m so grateful that we got that second chance, that you_ _met me in San Antonio on that day in December, that you didn_ _’t_ _keep me waiting in vain. I really didn_ _’_ _t expect you to come, and when you stood in front of me, it was such a wonderful moment because then I somehow knew that everything would be alright again._

_And I_ _’_ _m so grateful for what came afterwards because it really was a dream… you were there for me when I needed you the most, you literally became a part of me, gave me so much more than friendship and love, you gave me l_ _ife. There wasn’t_ _a single day I forgot that I_ _was just breathing because you gave a part of yourself… that you kept me alive._

_So, yeah… I have all the reasons to be grateful, Jay. For everything, but most_ _of all, the happy and sad memories I will hold_ _on to until I_ _can hold on to you again._

The lump in my throat is getting tighter and bigger, and I really have to hold back my tears again, remembering that Jensen doesn ’ t want to see me cry from Heaven, that he doesn ’ t want to see me broken, but rather happy,  remembering him, and happily living my life without him.

Hence, I recall all these moments… The countless and indescribable precious experiences on set and the years living in Vancouver. Our first, hot and rapturous love… yeah, even the fight. Jensen’s letter that I hesitated to open; when I enfolded him in my arms again after all those years of hurt; and when he cried before he returned to London. Hurrying to his death bed, and realizing how much I loved Jensen, that I couldn ’ t be without him, and that I was ready to give him simply everything I could…

_And then there was that day in February, when you looked at me with so much love and slipped that ring onto my finger… that beloved engagement ring I had been wearing on a chain around my neck ever since we_ _’_ _ve been married, until today. I know you will notice at once that it is gone. I won_ _’_ _t be able to answer your prying, maybe even worried questions. Until now. There_ _’s a smaller envelope_ _and the ring is in there. I_ _’_ _d be honored if you could wear it forthwith, to remember me._

Having a closer look at the envelope I see a tiny red envelope in one of its corners.

With shaking hands that strangely remind me of  when I slid this ring on Jensen’s finger, I open it and let the ring slide onto my palm. It still looks like it did on the day when I put it on my best friend’s finger, when it made Jensen not only my boyfriend again but also my fiance. 

The white and red gold is still shining and not a single scratch is on it. All those years it hung around Jensen’s neck, sometimes above his clothes,  sometimes hidden underneath, near his heart that  was not only beating because of me but also just for me. 

Taking the ring, I hold it between my fingers and read the familiar inscription before I put it onto my left hand ’ s ring finger. I know I will never take the ring off again, will be buried with it whenever my time comes and will be wearing it when I meet Jensen again in eternity.

_Memories_ _... I have a lot of memories at the end of my life, and I shared so many with you, and will share some more with you in the days, maybe weeks that remain… Most of them seem so little, so unimportant, but for me, they meant the world…_

_The first ever hug you gave me, so warm, so sincere and amicable even though we didn’t really know each other, and it touched me deep within, connected me to you, sowed the seed of our friendship and love…_

_This_ _horrible cold I had sometime in the second season, before I was living with you and you brought me meds, made me chicken soup and stayed with me during the whole weekend, cheering me up, being with me although I was bitchy and sneezing all the time, looking so pathetic...._

_I remember our weekend trip to New York on our second anniversary and the romantic stroll through Central Park, holding hands while the moonlight shone down on us..._

_I still feel your hand holding mine and your soothing palm rubbing my back when I cried on your shoulder after that second meeting of our reunion, realizing that everything would be alright, that we were on the right way, that our friendship really would stand a chance again..._

_Every touch, every gentle brush on my cheek when I_ _was in the hospital, when you helped me through the hardest time of my life is still clearly burned into my mind...._

_It only seems like yesterday that you picked me up and carried me over the threshold when we arrived here after our honeymoon in Munich, and you showed me the little paradise you bought for us..._

_Last_ _year_ _’_ _s New Year_ _’_ _s Eve, dancing with each other so tightly, just one big mass moving slowly in front of the fire to some slow song. I_ _’_ _ve never felt more like a girl, but it was so wonderful, you holding me tight..._

_And I remember the tender “I love you” you whispered into my ear only a few hours ago when I woke up in your arms and you held me tight and told me with these three simple words, and the even simpler touch that you really didn_ _’_ _t want to let me go._

Every single memory conjures a smile upon my face. Jensen is right, I didn ’ t know that some of these things were so special to him, meant so much to him.  But they are burnt into my mind as well… 

Our first hug when we met to run our lines, even before we shot the pilot.

The weekend in New York, the long walk through Central Park in the middle of the night and us, back then so full of fear that we would out ourselves, throwing panicked glances behind our backs but nonetheless holding on, not wanting to give up the connection of our entwined hands.

The slightly awkward but still somehow nice feeling when Jensen cried on my shoulder and I held his hand. 

Me carrying him over the threshold without much effort, right into the bedroom my sister had so charmingly decorated for us. I recall us making love, first rapturous , then very tender, until we eventually fell asleep, curled up to one another, holding each other, and being so happy, so grateful and so much in love. 

I remember the slow dance on New Year’s Eve and my mind full of emotions , full of gratitude that 365 more days had passed by with Jensen in my life, and the knowledge that every passing year would also mean the unavoidable goodbye drawing closer. 

I remember his gently breathed “I love you”, and all the countless other times I let my husband, best friend and soul mate know how much he meant to me, not only by telling him but also by showing him, with a gentle touch, a lingering hug or a tender kiss.

And there are many moments that stick to my  memory as special ones, like Jensen and I swimming together under thousands of sparkling stars in a warm swimming pool while holidaying in Mauritius... 

I remember waking up next to my newly-wed husband after our wedding night, him sleeping curled up next to me, looking fragile but so much better and, most of all, so peaceful, so happy and my chest tightened with all the love I felt for this wonderful man.... 

Jensen waking me up, a bunch of red roses from the garden in his hand, saying nothing, just thanking me with a simple look and a tender kiss....

I remember his look when I told him I would quit acting to be with him all the time, a mixture of guilt and grief, but most of all pure joy and happiness that we could have our own, peaceful life here in England....

Countless times Jensen and I were sitting on a blanket in the garden, surrounded by the various fragrances of the flowers, holding on to each other, looking up into the sky, and watching the clouds passing by, white and fluffy against a bright blue sky or the sparkling stars on a dark-blue canopy, conveying everything we felt by tender little touches.

_Dear Jared, I_ _’_ _m at my letter_ _’_ _s end and soon I_ _’_ _ll be at my journey_ _’_ _s end. I can_ _’_ _t look back to a very long life, but I can look back to a very happy one because, with you, I had a partner, a friend, and a lover every human being could wish for. You really were the best_ _thing that ever happened_ _to me, Jay, and I hope you never regretted the decision to spend your life with me._

_I hope you know how much I loved you, every day, every minute and every second._

_Remember me,_

_With love,_

_Jen_

I remember that conversation with Chad so many years ago, a few days before Jensen came back to LA and his question – if I was sure of what I would be getting into when living with Jensen. 

Some of the things Chad said then came to pass more or less. Jensen was broken because the old Jensen died the day I gave him my kidney. I gave up a lot for him, my career and little things that are so normal for most other people. Those days when my – or his - kidney stopped functioning, his blood was poisoned and his organs failed were the most horrible days I ever had to endure. 

But I gained much more than I lost. A man who loved me and who gave me so much back, with each beautiful smile and hug, which each laugh and kiss, with each day he woke up in my arms and each night he fell asleep, with his back pressed against my chest, and his hand vanishing in mine.

Jensen was wo rth every single tear, every drop of sweat, every sleepless night, and all the grief and sorrow I felt because he was the most precious person in my life, my everything, my forever love. 

I know there isn ’ t anyone who completes me like he did, and so I will gladly face old age alone, won ’ t be afraid of dying alone, because my Jensen is waiting for me at the other side of the road.

This realization and knowledge makes the hint of a smile on my lips grow, and as I finally beam again for the first  time in what seems like eons, the sun is winning her fight through the clouds and illuminates the garden in a golden light. 

It feels like a greeting from Heaven and it leaves the hope inside me that my remaining years will be equally bright so that I can fulfill my loved one ’ s dying wish. I might not be able to see Jensen anymore, but he is here in this house, in each room, and in my thoughts, and his laughter and touches linger in my ears and on my skin so that I will always have something to hold on to.

Pressing his wonderful letter to my heart I get up to return to our cozy living-room that is filled with photos of our lives and our love for the past twenty-nine years.

“I love you, Jen,” I whisper as I put his letter in the last remaining frame, putting it next to the wedding photo. Looking at the photo, at my arms wrapped around my husband, at our twined fingers, our loving faces, I see in Jensen’s eyes that he knew. Yet, I hope he could hear me saying it from that cloud in Heaven where he is waiting for me.

Each of the photos does what Jensen wants me to do: Remember him. But I don ’t need them because the pictures are inside me – everything we did, his look, the sparkle of his eyes, the freckles scattered over his skin, the sound of his voice, his moans while making love to him, his touch ghosting over my skin, and his scent in my nose. 

So yeah, I will fulfill Jensen’s dying wish; until we meet again, I will spend my time laughing and smiling, remembering my Jensen with love.

**The End**


End file.
